Full Circle
by le petit lionne
Summary: He could always tell. And she hated it. The way he looked at her. The morbid way he breathed her name as she approached. She hated that too. "I'm sorry," he said softly. It was just barely above a whisper. "I'm so, so sorry." She hated the pity in his voice as his eyes dropped down her divorce papers. And above all else, she hated the way he could still make her heart skip a beat.
1. Chapter 1

**First** and Foremost: It's my first ficcy! Yaaay! Please be kind. This story actually started out as something completely different and with different tenses, so If I've forgotten to change anything, please let me know. =]

**Second** and... uuhhh.. secondmost I don't own BBC or the characters, only the words. Sue me if you like, but all you'd get is the dust bunnies under my bed.

Read, review and enjoy!

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**Chapter I**

She was young, but she's accomplished more than most people her age; probably more than most people on the planet. By the age of 23, she'd graduated top of her class at Oxford, earned herself a top position as chief medical officer at UNIT and associate member of Torchwood. Oh, and traveled throughout time and space. She'd operated on both aliens and humans alike. She was beautiful, brilliant and fabulously wealthy. It would seem that she had everything she could ever want.

So why would she sabotage her perfect life? It's the question that the 23 year old widow and "all-but- divorcee", asked herself every day.

Her eyes slowly adjusted to the light. Naked, groggy, and ever so slightly confused._ 'Usual Saturday night'_, she thought to herself._ 'Think, think, think,'_ as she took in her unfamiliar surroundings.

She remembered a lot of apple martinis. And even more shots. Of what? She couldn't say. She leaned up on her elbows and looked around: it was dank and dark and vaguely smelled of sweat. In her drunken stupor, had she climbed into a cave? Complete with big, angry bear. Or is it? She looked around to find the source of the incessant snoring that had ultimately led to her rude awakening. To her right, the culprit: oily, olive and bald headed with a pencil thin mustache and a thin trail of drool hanging from his lip is the bear. He called himself Jim…or Slim. She couldn't remember, nor could she force herself to care.

She winced, both at the sight and at her aching head. She slid quietly out of the unfamiliar bed. She quickly gathered up her black pumps and the thin sliver of fabric that was her dress and tiptoed to the small bathroom, making sure not to disturb the stranger still snoring on the opposite pillow. None of that post-one- night- stand- banter for Martha Jones.

Disappointingly, but not surprisingly, there was no toilet paper. Nor was there any soap. She pulled on her dress, and rummaged through the cabinets. Finally, she found the pot of gold: the last of the toothpaste. She squeezed it onto her index finger and cleaned her teeth the best she could. She rinsed her mouth out and stretched- the pain in her back, as opposed to between her thighs, was a clear indicator that whatever happened between the grizzly and herself obviously wasn't worth it.

She had her keys but didn't remember driving. She had her phone but it long gone- Dead for hours, she assumed. She carried her shoes back out of the bathroom, stealing a glance at the alarm clock on the floor as she passed-it was 10:37am .What's- his- face was still snoring and snorting as she slipped out of the door and into her shoes. As she click-clacked down the corridor of the dusty apartment building, her embarrassment was being held firmly in place by her pride. She stepped out of the front doors and into the late summer sun. No sign of the car, but luckily she'd picked up an impeccable sense of direction somewhere between space and time.

She walked briskly down the cracked sidewalk two blocks to the subway station and pretended not to notice the holier-than-thou church ladies as they whispered. Her pink shimmery dress was all of a sudden too bright, even for her eyes, ablaze in the mid-morning sun. It seemed like such a good idea last night.  
The subway ride was short and she got off just a block away from where she'd parked her car- her silent prayers answered when I saw it was still there. She pressed the button, unlocking the red sport car and snatched the traffic ticket off of the windshield. It's the only car on the small block. She revved her engine, finally relaxing, and drove across town barefoot.

She'd hardly expected to see him in front of her house. She hardly expected to see him anywhere anymore. Of course, he still came around once in a while- sometimes by "accident", mostly on "business". He'd been sitting on her stoop, a large brown envelope in hand. He hadn't heard her approach. He'd been staring down at the envelope in his hands. "You know, it's illegal to open someone else's mail." She'd meant it as a joke, but her flat tone conveyed her misery through her fake smile. He'd have been able to tell anyway. He could always tell. And she hated it. The way he looked at her. The morbid way he breathed her name as she approached. She hated that too. "I'm sorry," he said softly. It was just barely above a whisper. "I'm so, so sorry." She hated the pity in his voice as his eyes dropped down her divorce papers. And above all else, she hated the way he could still make her heart skip a beat.

**A/N:** Hmmm... that was pretty short. I'll update soon. In the mean time, leave me some feedback people!


	2. Chapter 2

Back again! That didn't take too long did it? I still don't own anything.

I really want to thank my very first reviewer, Black Diamonds 07! Thankkkkssss!

Enjoy!

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**Chapter II:**

It wasn't the argument that had ended it all. No, it was probably over before it began. No matter how much she wanted to believe in the love that she feigned or how devoted to them she'd been, those relationships were always destined to fail. She didn't get a chance to confront it with Tom- her first husband. He'd been murdered in Africa during a peacekeeping mission just weeks after their honeymoon. She mourned for the man she loved but she knew, even before the wedding, that she wasn't _in love. _She'd tried so hard to fill the space that had been left empty. Abandoned. Tom was a piece in the puzzle that didn't quite fit. His family had never forgiven her for how easily she'd moved on.

In Mickey, she thought she had found someone to finally fill the space. He had known him. Traveled with him. He was one of the few people on the planet that could understand her because he'd lived in the majesty of the Doctor, too. They both knew what it felt like to live in the shadow of someone else. Who knew that when they met again as Torchwood associates, things would end up like this? He expressed his attraction that day and bedded her that night and wed her a mere 3 months later.

She'd gained 2 new names in 2 years, but used none but her own. Not Martha Milligan-Smith, or Martha Jones- Smith- she would remain Martha Jones, now and forever. Later, he'd say that it should have been a clear sign; he should have known when she flat out refused to adopt his name that they were doomed. She wanted to prove him wrong, but in truth he was just another ill-fitting piece.

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**3 months ago:**

He hadn't said a word. Just walked past her and up to the master bedroom in their lavish suburban home as she followed him, confused. "Hello to you too, Mr. Grumpy", She said with a nervous laugh. No response. "I brought home Chinese, if you want… If not, I'll put yours in the 'fridge." Nothing. "Okay. Mind telling me what the hell is going on? Did something happen at work? What's wrong? Can we talk about it? " He pulled the suitcases out of the closet in silence and began to fill them with his clothes.

"There's nothing to talk about." Mickey blurted out, no longer able to keep his anger in check. He knew that they wouldn't have to talk about it just as long as he kept his mouth shut, but he was never good at that- Gran had always said so. His voice was laced with disgust. He refused to meet her incredulous gaze. Did she really not understand?

"What the hell does that even mean? You're not making sense! Mickey, can you please just talk to me?" she was pleading now.

Finally he snapped.

"You know what, Martha? Fuck you. Fuck you and this house and this sham of a marriage. I can't do this anymore." Now in a full rage.

"Excuse me? Fuck me? What the hell have I done to deserve that? What are you actually trying to say, Mickey? No more of this cryptic bullshit. Just say what you have to say. If you're leaving then obviously this has been on your mind for a while." Suddenly realization hit her. She'd always been a bright girl, observant and attentive. She'd been simply ignoring the giant elephant in the room for a long time. Maybe even since before the wedding.

"Is this about the Doctor?" Her voice was almost at a yell.

"Isn't it always?" he scoffed sarcastically, using that tone she hated. "No, Martha. This is about you. You're still in love with him. You're not over him and you never will be. I thought we could put this behind us. That if I loved you enough you could learn to love me."

"I do love you!" It couldn't be ending. Not like this, could it?

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you'll actually believe it. I can't do this anymore. I'm not going to live in his bloody shadow. Not again. Not ever."

He'd finished packing his few belongings. There was nothing left. Nothing left to say, nothing left fight for. No reason to stay.

"The crazy thing is that I was actually in love with you. Like really, properly in love. I'd do anything for you. But you," he broke off in a sad chuckle, refusing to let the tears spill. "You could never let go. You did this to us. And all for some bloke who could never love you back." He finally looked at her, but it felt as if he was looking through her: through her clothes and skin and bones. He looked through to her very core and was disgusted with what he saw.

"Maybe now I'll be able to find someone normal. Someone not so fucked up and damaged. I deserve that much."

She was speechless as he brushed past her out of the room. Out of her life. Wasn't that their silent agreement? Wasn't that what this marriage was all about? Neither of them could be with the person they truly loved, so they'd chosen to be with each other. They were going through the motions of being a happy family.

But didn't he like that? She loved the motions. The game. Playing pretend. Even in their respectively dangerous lines of work, it was a safe life they had in the suburbs and now it was all crumbling down.

She'd driven him away and subconsciously ruined her marriage. She'd hurt one of the bravest and most brilliant men she had ever met but what was worse, was that everything he'd said had been completely spot on. Looking back, she supposed they were always headed for this. Barely married for a year and she'd already managed to cock it up.

* * *

The Doctor stood from his seat on her concrete front steps- envelope still in hand. "Hello, Martha." He said, a small, sympathetic smile playing on his lips.

He towered over her, she noticed- not for the first time. She simply stared at her old friend, drinking in his appearance. Blue pinstripes today, navy trainers, brown overcoat, and his trademark perfectly messy hair.

This was the man who she'd fallen in love with what felt like a lifetime ago. It had, of course, only been 3 years but she felt in the far reaches of her heart that she'd loved him forever. Martha brushed off the emotions that threatened to overtake her as she stepped back into the role in which he rather unceremoniously placed her all those years ago: best friend.

Martha let out an exaggerated sigh, suddenly aware of her shiny pink dress and smeared makeup. "Blimey, you look like my pimp! Let's get in the house before the neighbors start to talk." She didn't want to discuss it right now. Not Mickey, not the divorce, and _definitely_ not how she'd spent her evening. He got the hint and followed her into the house.

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**I honesty don't know what's going to happen next. I have a clue where I want it to end up but things could change! ;)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! Sorry I've been away from you for so long. I know a week can feel like a year when you're waiting for a good story to continue. I agonized over this chapter a little bit, working and re-working and re-re-working until it felt less wordy[and it still feels wordy]. I wanted it to be a bit longer but I couldn't keep you guys waiting. The next chapter will be considerably juicier.**

**Just a few notes:**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but these words. Trust me, Series 3 would have been A LOT different!**

**Voicegrl: I'm so glad you like it!**

**Black Diamond07: I don't want to give anything away, but let's just say that the Doctor's indiscretions aren't so easily forgotten. I'll leave it at that.**

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter III**

He wasn't stalking them. Not really. Just using his resources to keep an eye on old friends. Without their knowledge or consent of course, but noble intent behind it none the less. At least that's what the Doctor told himself. In truth, yeah, he was spying. And he did it to them all- his former companions. The ones who weren't dead or so fucked up that his guilt wouldn't allow him to see them anymore. His hearts couldn't handle seeing them that way- strung out or struggling to deal with reality. Not after he'd tried so hard to give them something better. He couldn't stomach seeing the monsters that he himself created.

Sarah Jane was doing well. Still hadn't married, but then again she had always been married to her work. At least she had her son to take some of the burden from her life.

Jack had Torchwood. And Ianto. They still saw each other during some intergalactic crisis, but he'd tried to stay away from the Hub- knowing Jack's feelings for him hadn't completely gone. Besides, he got a bad feeling from that place anyway. He never stopped spying on him, of course. Sometimes, he had this look to him, when he left his base alone. A look that said he'd lived too long and seen too much. The Doctor knew that look all too well.

Donna was doing great. Still yelling at the world, oblivious to how many times she had saved it. She was happy, but not fulfilled. The Doctor figured she'd never feel that way again. She'd been so much more than the "temp from Chiswick", but she would never truly know. If she did, death would come soon after. Once a month, he still met with Wilf for lunch at a little obscure diner in town. The same one every time, one old man to another, just catching up. He never missed a date.

Then there was her. Doctor Martha Jones. His personal success story. Just thinking about her almost made all of the rest worth it. _Almost_.

There was no getting rid of the death and destruction that he sometimes left in his wake- but there was something about Martha's accomplishments that almost seemed to compensate for the rest. _Almost_.

Martha seemed to successfully integrate into everyday life. Normal house, normal –well not so normal job- but all the same, she was still functioning. She created this life all on her own. And on top of it all, she still remembered him. He supposed that was why he visited her most often. He could still see her and talk to her without the fabric of reality becoming undone. He appreciated that. He had to make excuses, of course, when he got the urge to do those things. Universal calamity or alien invasion usually brought them together. Or sometimes the excuse of a "hiccup in the vortex" usually worked. He was sure that she knew better, but she never let on. Other times he just followed her from a distance or, more embarrassingly, looked through her mail. He couldn't help himself- his pride and curiosity just wouldn't leave well enough alone.

She was brilliant. Really brilliant. She'd saved his life just as much as he'd saved hers. Not to mention saved the world. Not once did she complain or expect reverence of any kind. She was all intellect and instinct and compassion and humility and fire. She was mercy personified and painfully beautiful. She knew when to silently obey and when to openly defy him with an easy confidence and maturity that preceded him. Martha Jones was something different.

She had a curious wisdom about her when they met at Royal Hope, but her selflessness is what drew him to her. Now, he supposed, she was always destined for more than one trip. Of course, she suffered, as did they all. She'd given her life on more than one occasion. But what's more, she was able to sacrifice her emotions for him. It hadn't gone unnoticed. Of course, just like any man, he didn't quite get it at first. But once he'd caught on, he still gave her nothing but heartache. Maybe if he'd ignored it, the feelings would go away- both hers and his own growing feelings for her. She was a smart girl; she knew what happened to those who got too close. She'd have ended up damaged or dead, too.

But she had other plans. She left him. She'd given him her last breath, as well as her heart. And then, just as he had begun to feel for her, entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe he could love her the way he had loved the others, she left. And he couldn't blame her. She'd left him lonely, just as he'd let her feel in her months in the TARDIS.

It wasn't rare that someone left the TARDIS, but it _was_ rare that anyone ever left of their own volition. But there it was: she'd gone and there, in the vast, dark loneliness that he realized just how much he'd needed her. She hadn't needed him quite as much. He'd realized that early on. He needed her more than he ever realized.

So he began following her and "accidentally" running into her in emergency situations and coming whenever she called. Until finally he was ready to tell her. Donna was there, but she's the one who finally convinced him to tell her. Invite her back. Make it work. That was when he saw the ring.

He didn't want to go. He just did what was expected of him. That's what "best friends" do right? Never mind the pain he felt as she walked down the aisle in the stunning white gown. He stood in the back and left the reception early, muttering some excuse about strange atmospheric disturbances. He held her close as she cried after the funeral, her pain manifesting in him as well. He sat with the Torchwood team at her small second wedding to Mickey Smith, of all people, almost a year later. Now that, he didn't hadn't expected. Talk about 6 degrees of separation.

For a Time Lord, his timing was really rubbish. The timing would never be right to tell her of his feelings. Not now that she was a happily married woman. So he continued his secret coveting while she lived a perfectly "normal" life on Earth, if that's what you could call it, and he travelled through all of time and space- getting deeper and deeper into trouble all for the sake of distraction.

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It was on one of these many spying missions that brought him to her not-so-humble abode. It was Sunday morning, spring and absolutely beautiful. No cars in the driveway- it was odd that they were both out on a Sunday, so he waited in the playground across the street in their suburban neighborhood. It was there that he saw it, or rather saw him. Mickey Smith, walking up the street to the house, envelope in hand. Why walking? He walked up to the house- his house- and stood for a moment. His hand hovering over the doorbell. Why would he be ringing the doorbell to his own house? Why not just use the key? Mickey seemed to think better of it after that moment, kissed the envelope, and dropped it against the door before walking off in the direction he had come from.

He needed to know what was in that envelope.

* * *

After he was sure that Mickey was gone, the Doctor leapt from his seat on the swing and walked briskly back to the house where the envelope had been placed. He looked around, making sure no one was looking while he grossly invaded his former companion's privacy, and peeled open the envelope. After skipping through all the legal mumbo-jumbo, he came across the only three words that mattered in the entire 13 page document: "DIVORCE"... "IRRECONCILIBLE DIFFERENCES". He sat down on the concrete step, his arms resting on his long legs as he read the words again… "DIVORCE"… "Divorce?" "Divorce!" He absent-mindedly shoved the papers back into the envelope and stared at the envelope.

He didn't know whether to be excited at what the turn of events could mean for him or distraught for the woman he loved; she'd been through a lot since she left the TARDIS. This envelope, blank save for her name printed in neat, boxy letters on the front, was going to change her life, maybe both their lives. He was so engrossed in his thoughts, running scenarios of every possible outcome of Mickey and Martha's separation, that he didn't hear the car pull into the driveway nor did he hear her bare feet paddling towards him.

"You know it's illegal to open someone else's mail." The familiar voice brought him out of his reverie. He was taken aback; it was the same old Martha Jones wit, but she sounded tired- haggard almost. When he looked at her, however, she was still the stunning Martha Jones he'd come to love. He let his eyes wander over her body, just briefly: a light pink dress, so shimmery it seemed to glow in the spring sun, adorned her curves: three-quarter sleeved and borderline obscene in length –or lack thereof (though he couldn't say he disapproved). Her make-up was a bit smudged, her hair slightly disheveled, and a pair of black pumps hung from the strap of her small party bag. The shades she'd donned to hide her red, weary eyes and dark bags didn't fool the Doctor one bit. They made a bit of small talk, an apology and a quick joke from Martha lightened the mood, if only a bit.

Then, a sickening realization dawned on him: _his_ Martha hadn't come home last night.

And she hadn't slept alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Helloooo, my beauties. Chapter 4's up! I think a many of you are going to like this chapter. **

**I'd like to apologize in advance. Winter semester starts soon and I may not be able to update regularly, but I can guarantee you that I'm not going to abandon you until this thing's done!**

**Also, I don't own anything. Sue me if you like, just to see what will happen, I guess. **

**I have a few new projects in the works... Maybe some Martha/ Elevens and some SuperWho crossovers.**

**Read and review if you enjoy the story!**

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**Chapter IV**

Here he was. It wasn't as if he hadn't ever been in her house before. But before, she was married. She didn't have that vulnerable undertone- one that just begged to be prodded and caressed- bubbling just below her confident exterior. He recognized it almost immediately. It was only one of the many gifts that living for 906 years had given him- being able to pinpoint the weaknesses of others and know how to exploit and manipulate them almost immediately. It was one of the qualities he valued against an enemy. Against a friend, against Martha at this very moment, he was disgusted with it. At the fact that he could, not doubt, have her if he wanted. He could manipulate her fragile state to his advantage; there was a part of him, burning at his very core, whispering. "She wanted it then. Of course, she wants it now. Both of you know it, so why not just go to her?" The voice sneered.

He wanted to. She was in the shower. He knew the odds of her objecting if he decided to join her were slim. But not like this. Not in a million years would he want to use his giant Time Lord-y brain to manipulate the woman he loved into a cheap fuck. That's not what he was there for. In fact, he wasn't even supposed to be there. He was just at the wrong place at the wrong time and got caught.

So instead of heading up to the bathroom, where she was scrubbing away the memory of the previous night, he planted himself in her kitchen, plowing through an entire loaf of homemade banana bread. By the time she made her way back to the kitchen 20 minutes later the bread was gone, the dishes were done and the floor had been mopped to squeaky, reflective perfection.

"You never could keep your hands still for very long. And did you eat _all_ of the bread? I keep forgetting you skipped the manners course at the academy."

She looked refreshed, though her voice still had a tired rasp to it. He watched her move around the kitchen in a plush white robe and matching slippers. She smelled of plain soap, just as she had back then. She wasn't wearing any make up and her hair was still damp. The Martha Jones that he had encountered this morning had been scrubbed and stripped away and a fresh, clean Martha Jones had taken her place, though he could still feel the layers of mask and emotion that she put on.

"Oi!" he said, feigning offense. "Who need manners with these looks?" He winked and she let the smallest of smiles creep to her lips.

"Well Doctor, let's get down to business. What exactly are you doing here?" she said, putting the kettle on.

"What?"

"Why, Doctor, are you here? At my house. What is it? Alien trafficking? Daleks? Clones? Darth Vader? What is it? Because _you_ don't just pop in for tea and biscuits." There was a slight irritation in her words, but not anger or malice. It was then that he noticed it. Something in the way she looked at him had changed. Less adoration, slight irritation but the longing was still there: tiny and hiding but still there. She still loved him, yes. But she was a changed woman. He was almost apprehensive to continue.

"I… I missed you. Am I not allowed to miss an old friend?" he murmured, more to his shoes than to her. How had she gained the ability to reduce him to a sputtering school boy?

She crossed her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow. She didn't buy it. Why wouldn't she? It really was the truth, well mostly.

But then again, why would she believe him? He hadn't exactly been the affectionate type during their travels. Just a friend-and not always a good one. So he decided to deflect- manipulating the conversation to avoid talking about why he'd shown up on her doorstep unannounced. "Want to talk about it?" He eyed the envelope, then raised his eyes back to hers.

"What's there to talk about? You read the papers: Irreconcilable differences."

"No, but what does that mean? What happened? You two were... You know. Happy." It pained him to even say the words. To think about the way she looked at him on their wedding day- it seemed like undying love.

The irritation was back. "Irreconcilable differences. It's just what it bloody sounds like. Differences that cannot be reconciled. Things happen, Doctor. People change. And they say _you're_ the clever one." She turned to the cabinets to get two cups.

He thought it best to ignore her last comment. "So.. What are your plans? Now that you're all…unattached."

"Same thing I've been doing." He felt it rise- her irritation. She was reaching anger. What had he done wrong? Why was she angry? He was at a loss. Then a thought came to him. He blurted it out before it was even completed.

"Fancy a trip?" The words came tumbling out of his mouth, full of the same easy confidence that had lured her in the first time.

"Excuse me?" Her voice was almost incredulous- like she couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was the last thing she expected.

"Come with me." The three words that she longed to hear for so long, in lieu of those other three little words. Those words once had the ability to make her walk on water and float on air. Now they burned her up. His smile was usually contagious but now it was infuriating. The way he just dropped in, invaded her space, unknowingly played kickball with her heart and just expected her to drop everything and go on yet another heartbreakingly whimsical journey into time and space, like he just knew he had her hooked. His Time Lord Jedi mind trick attempt pushed her to the edge, over it and past it. The mask lifted and her emotions were laid bare. Martha Jones snapped like never before.

"You ruin us. You know? The people you acquire. The poor souls you decide to grace with your presence. Your charity cases. You turn us into damaged goods." Her voice escalated to a yell.

"Martha, I-" She cut him off.

"No, Doctor. You don't get a turn. It's your turn to listen. How exactly do you expect us to go back to real life after exposing us to all of that? After all we see? How do we cope? I'll tell you how. We don't. We self-destruct. Those of us weren't dropped off in other dimensions or had to have our memories wiped, we don't cope."

Her mentions of Donna and Rose hurt. She knew by the way his eyes darkened that she had struck a nerve. She'd been aiming for the jugular. Shooting to kill. He stayed silent, but his rage and sadness shown darkly in his eyes. Under normal circumstances, to see that Time Lord Wrath directed towards her would have completely terrified her. Not today, for what was the legendary rage of a Time Lord compared to that of a woman scorned? What was the oncoming storm compared to the ancient sea of hurt and unrequited love that coursed through her veins like fire.

"We accept the lives you drop us into and we die away. We hurt ourselves. We hurt the completely innocent people who love us. Normal, loving people who can't understand why we're so broken and why they never even have a shot at fixing us. You turn us into the same destructive force that you are- but instead of destroying the worlds of others, we destroy our own worlds and end up just as sad and alone as you are. The only difference is that we don't have a magic blue box to distract us. Only cold harsh reality."

Her face was stone, save for the tears that rolled steadily down her cheeks. He was out of breath as if she'd knocked the wind out of him. His jaw and fists clenched and unclenched as if he was fighting the urge to do something rash. He was fighting for control. Just then, the tea kettle sounded like the fight bell in a boxing match. She turned off the kettle.

"You should go." Her back was still turned, but she could hear him turn and walk in the direction of the front door. A few seconds later, the door slammed with a ferocity she was sure could have splintered it into a million pieces. It was only after he left her that she let go and crumpled into a heap on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.


	5. Chapter 5

**Good Morning from the East Coast! Let me start off by saying, I live for reviews and I thank all of my reviewers from the depths of my soul.**

**I don't own anything.. Like nothing. If you want my cardboard box, all you have to do is ask. Please don't sue me.**

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**Chapter V**

He'd grown used to his own personal brand of self-loathing. The voices that lurked in the shadows and whispered when he traveled alone for too long. But to hear them out loud- to hear _her_ say them was a completely different matter. It was a pain he hadn't felt for a long time. Her words were knives and he'd been cut to pieces and bled dry.

He tried to find fault in what she said. He couldn't.

"It's not like I put a gun to her head- to any of their heads! I never forced any of them to come with me. They were all consenting adults. They could have said no." He said to no one in particular as he made his way around the console, pressing buttons and flipping switches as he went.

'_Come now, you stupid man. You know what you did,' _The voice hissed in his ear. 'Y_ou, you dirty old man, practically offered candy to children and lured them into your van of time and space. Did you expect them to just say _"That's cool and all, but I think I'll pass on the infinite vacation thing." _Martha was the only one clever enough to leave you.' _The voice in his head sneered. For a moment, just one moment of anger, he wished for a physical manifestation of the voice that taunted him so that he could beat it to a pulp.

No matter what his intentions were, ultimately the voice was right: he lured his companions into the TARDIS with the promise of fun and adventure and ruined them for life to sate his own loneliness. He was selfish. When it came to Martha, he'd been downright cruel, even after she'd left him. He had squashed any chance for their love to blossom under the heel of his trainers before he'd even considered the possibility.

He threw himself recklessly into danger- all the while stewing in his self-pity. His Time Lord narcissism was growing as he became darker and darker. He continued to save planets from imminent doom, but he filled the empty space where his spirit had been with the accolades, praise, and worship of those he saved. He began to relish in the fear of his enemies- the begging for mercy, the running at the mention of his name. He was gaining back the power and control he lost when he lost Martha, although it was by corrupt means.

He'd just returned from planet Falco-7 after saving its people from a cannibalistic subspecies that resulted from mutated bacteria in their livestock. He almost burned the entire colony to the ground, yet something stopped him. He'd almost gone too far. After a pointedly vegetarian feast in his honor, he trudged back to the TARDIS, feeling tainted down to his very soul. He'd saved the day, but almost lost himself. The warm shower washed the dirt and blood from his skin, but the unclean feeling still remained.

That's when he felt it. A tugging in the back of his mind. _Come back to me. _It wasn't a voice, so much as it was a feeling. He could _feel_ the words in his mind. _Come back to me. _It was the TARDIS. He'd ignored the old girl for the few months that he let the darkness consume him. _Come back to me. You've strayed so far, my dear, sweet Doctor. _

He let the water wash over him and ran his fingers through his hair. Resting his head against the wall of the shower, he answered aloud. "I've made a mess of things, haven't I?"

_There's still time. There's nothing you can do for the others, but you can fix things with Martha. I know you can find a way._

He stepped out of the shower, the TARDIS still coaxing him closer. He needed to make things better. His growing malice had kept her from his mind. Now he was coming back to her.

And he was coming back _for_ _her_. He still felt like a Time Lord possessed. Martha was his to possess and his only. He was coming to claim what was his.

* * *

Martha threw herself into her work. Paperwork, autopsies, briefings… she even volunteered for a few missions. All to get away from her thoughts of the Doctor. It'd been months since she'd seen him and their last conversation hadn't ended well.

Part of her wanted to apologize, but he'd deserved it. It wasn't like what she said wasn't true, but the delivery wasn't what she would have preferred. Instead of civilized conversation, she rapid-fired three years' worth of words and accusations at him in a stream of anger, frustration and pain. Her life was fucked and he'd played his part. But was it really all his fault?

Her weekends were spent recklessly; spending her nights in seedy clubs and waking up in strange beds with stranger bedfellows to dull the pain and fill the void the Doctor left. Leaving before they could regret her.

It was a Saturday, 2 months in when she received the call.

"Hey, beautiful!" She heard her sister's voice over the speaker phone as she put on her make up.

"Hey, Tish. What's up, Love?" She loved her sister with all of her heart. She'd _like _her more if she didn't keep trying to set her up.

"Just wanted to know if you were bringing anyone to the party." As a PR agent, Tish was in charge of company parties for celebrities, magazines, and big businesses. Of course, she extended these invites to her little sister in the desperate hopes that she would find a rich and powerful husband. Tonight was the 10th anniversary party of one of London's fastest growing PR firms.

"Nope, just me…yet again." She said with a sigh. "I'm almost ready, I'll be leaving in 10."

"Good, because there are some good ones already here. So you better get here soon before they're all gone!" She heard her sister's sing-song voice over the receiver and she couldn't help but roll her eyes.

* * *

He stood in line. It'd been a long time since he actually had to stand in line; to be patient for anything. But he had to see her, and the TARDIS took him here, so this is where she must be. He wasn't surprised. He got to the heavily guarded door and entered with a simple flash of psychic paper. It wasn't' as if he hadn't seen settings like this before, but it was rather lavish by Earth's standards. The party was held on the top two floors of the high-rise building, in all white rooms with abstract art on all walls. Even the chairs and tablecloths were white. The bar was gold and filled with top shelf spirits and aged wine. A winding, golden staircase led to the upper levels of the party: another large room and a skybar on the roof mostly enclosed by an elaborate gilded gate. The color scheme of the second floor was all black and gold, shimmering in the moonlight. He took the champagne he was offered at the door and began his hunt. Clad in his formal black suit and black trainers, he made small talk with the other guests, claiming to be an investor. He found Tish first.

After politely excusing himself from the group, he made his way over.

"Doctor, what are you doing here? I would have definitely noticed if you were on the list. Is there some kind of trouble?" She started panicking almost immediately, for if the Doctor was there then trouble couldn't be far behind.

"No, no. Everything's fine. Well, at least I think so. I'm just looking for Martha."

"Well, I don't know if she's here yet. Why do you ask? What do you want with Martha?" she said, eyeing him suspiciously. She knew of her sister's feelings, how affected she'd been by him, of the grip he held on her heart. Tish liked the Doctor well enough, but she had to protect her sister.

"Doctor, please don't cause any trouble. I'll have to have you thrown out. I hope you understand. She's my baby sister."

"I know, Tish. I'm not going to hurt her. I promise." He meant it. He had no intentions of hurting Martha. He just wanted to explain. He just wanted a chance.

"Well, I don't know how much your promises weigh at this point, tiger. You're going to have to do a hell of a lot to win her back." She said before sashaying away in her red dress to greet more guests.

* * *

She stepped out of the gold doors of the elevator and walked confidently to the front of the line. This wasn't a pink and shiny occasion, so she opted for black. The dress was short, strapless and tight; her breasts pushed up. Black pumps click-clacked against the white floor and her gold necklace shined against her skin. She wore her hair long and her make up light. After flashing her VIP pass, she made straight for the bar.

The second floor was much more lively than the uptight, all white floor. Club music radiated from the walls. The large room was soundproofed as not to disturb the lower level.

She liked the darkness. For a few moments, it was just her and her martini. And then another and another, and she let the darkness of the black and gold room envelope her as her head began to swim and she let the music take her.

A man asked her to dance. She looked up at his face and accepted; he wasn't much her type, but what did types matter now? She took his hand and led him to the middle of the dance floor. Martha started the Saturday night mating ritual, feeling the hands of her dance partner around her waist. Her back to his front, they moved in time with the music. Martha closed her eyes as she grinded against him, feeling him grow behind her. She felt his hands travel and didn't stop him. She needed this distraction.

When she opened her eyes again, they were met with fiery brown. He wasn't right in front of her, but across the black and gold room his eyes bored into her- roving over her body before meeting hers from the shadows. She could feel the rage. She'd had dreams about those eyes and nightmares about that rage. She could practically feel the heat radiating from him from across the room, but she kept dancing.

_The nerve! Why is he even here? _She threw her hips back with more ferocity as her drunken anger grew. She maintained eye contact, and saw his eyes narrow ever so slightly. The song was ending, and her dance partner was getting even more handsy (if that was even possible). He cupped her breast, and whispered sweet nothings in her ear but she was barely paying attention, eyes focused solely on the Doctor. She threw her head back, and circled her hips against the man behind her. When she looked up again the Doctor was standing directly in front of her.

The song was over.

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**OOOOOHHH! What's going to happen, you ask? Well next chapter is going to be chocked full of juice! Til next time, you know what to do: REVIEW!**


	6. Chapter 6

**HEY! The chapter you've all been waiting for... I assume. Hope you enjoy. **

**Don't own anything. Don't sue. Please Review!**

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**Chapter VI**

They reached a stale mate.

The man behind her stopped moving but kept his arm around her in a feeble attempt to protect her. Little did he know, Martha wasn't his to protect. She was HIS Martha, and possessions of one cannot be claimed by another without consequence. The Doctor kept his hands in his pockets, fighting for control once again. His stance was cool, but the way his eyes burned into hers betrayed the unrest inside of him.

He glanced up at the stranger only for a moment, but it was enough. Her former dance partner backed down. He felt his Time Lord dominance growing inside of him once again. He'd come to the party to talk to her, to make amends, but now that would have to wait.

She stared at him openly, almost defiantly. The other women at the party had stared and even solicited him throughout the night, but she was different. She was Martha Jones.

Without saying a word, he took her arm in his tight grip and led her away from the dance floor to the only corner not shrouded in moonlight, and down to the dark, roped off service corridor. He didn't care if anyone saw them, but he was certain that no one noticed.

Once they were far enough down the narrow corridor that they couldn't be seen by passersby, she snatched her arm from his grip.

"What the hell is the meaning of this? Doctor, what are you even doing here?" His grip and her anger had sobered her up quickly. For such a bright girl, she could not for the life of her understand what he would be doing at _this_ party pulling her away from her Saturday night ritual. He didn't answer her, he just paced in front of her like a caged animal, ready to strike.

"Answer me, Doctor!" And he did, though not in the way she expected.

Instead of his usual jumble of words, he shoved her against the wall- aggressive, but not angry. She landed with a dull thud against the wall behind her and hardly had a chance to process what was happening before his lips crashed against hers.

Surprised, she pushed away with her hands braced against his chest, but her mouth drank his, allowing him entrance when his tongue begged an audience with hers. After the initial shock wore off, she allowed her hands to travel from his chest to his wild hair, pulling him closer. His hands explored her body for the first time: leaving their place on her hips to travel up her back, then back down to her bum- grasping, stroking and squeezing as they moved.

Finally, they broke the kiss, gasping for air as the oxygen ran out between them. She was still pressed against the wall and he was mere centimeters away. Martha searched his eyes for an answer, any answer. He wasn't drunk, no reason to believe that he was sick or possessed by anything other than lust. His eyes were softer, but they still held the same desire.

He assaulted her lips again with passionate, hungry kisses, biting her full bottom lip. She returned the kiss on tip-toes, getting as close as possible as he crushed her into the wall. His arousal pressed against her. His long fingers found the hem at the back of her dress as his lips traveled down her jaw to the sweet spot on her neck. She let out a low moan that spurred him forward. "I've wanted this for so long." He whispered, almost inaudibly. But she'd heard. And she reveled in it.

He lifted her dress, shielded by the darkness of the corridor and in one swift movement, he tore through the lace of her knickers- the drenched sliver of fabric falling to the floor. He found her lips and her clit simultaneously: his mouth devouring hers as he made small circles on the swelling bud between her thighs. Her legs quivered and she moaned against his lips. With his idle hand, he lifted one of her legs and she instantly wrapped it around him pulling him even closer. The only thing separating them was the thin fabric of his pants and his deft fingers. She was now completely open to him. He slipped one finger, then another inside of her. He was rewarded with another series of moans and he pumped his fingers in and out of her with a growing urgency. Both were caught in a haze of pure lust as the rest of the world disappeared. He stared at her intently and she was too far gone to see straight so she kept her eyes closed.

"Look at me. Open your eyes and keep them open, Martha" it was an order and she obeyed. She bit her lip to stifle another moan as she returned his wanton gaze. He got lost in the rhythm of his fingers as she tightened around him. "Yes... Just let go. God, I love you. Martha, you know what I want, give it to me." His admission and the heightening passion growing inside of her was too much as she reached the summit of her passion. She plummeted hard and fast gripping him for support as he continued swirling and dipping inside if her. Her molten core overflowed as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her. If not for the booming music from the party, she was sure someone would have thought she was being murdered.

They regained their senses and caught their breaths in their own personal silence away from the party. She flinched as his fingers moved inside of her- this time sliding out. He slipped one wet finger into his mouth, enjoying its taste. The second finger he held to her lips and she took it between her lips without hesitation, savoring her taste as well. She never broke eye contact as she sucked his finger- flicking and swirling her tongue around it. She found her footing and reached down to his waistband but he stopped her.  
"Not here." He growled in her ear with a mischievous glint in his eye. He pocketed the silky bit of fabric from the floor before taking her by the hand once again and leading her deeper down the corridor.

* * *

They only walked for about a minute when he reached his target. He stopped short at the goods lift, sonicked it open, and pushed her inside before him. It was a short ride to the ground floor, but they couldn't keep their hands off of each other. It took everything the Doctor had not to take her right there in the lift. Between kisses and moans, he repeated his admission of love over and over again- the weight of the words lifting each time. She said it back, basking in their revelation and deciding that the third-degree could wait.

The lift stopped on the ground floor all too soon. He led her through the staff exit and into the narrow alley where the TARDIS was parked. Once inside, he carried her blindly through the console room and into the first room he came to. He'd intended to go to his own bedroom, but he couldn't wait. Besides, he had a feeling that the TARDIS had been busy in his absence. He silently thanked the old girl for thinking ahead.

Martha briefly noticed the beauty of the room before returning her attention to the doctor. The room was baroque themed, with decadent fabrics of burgundy and gold and dark wooden furniture. Illuminated with candles, the room practically dripped with old-world romanticism._ The TARDIS is definitely trying to get him laid_, she thought to herself.

The thought was fleeting and was cut short by his lips on hers. Suddenly, it was gone, and for a moment she was in the air as he tossed her small frame easily onto the plush bed. He positioned himself between her legs and admired the sight. "You're so beautiful… this dress is quite nice really," She felt naked under his scrutiny, then his eyes met hers: the playful gleam was back. He leaned down and began a trail of kisses up her left thigh. "But as good as it looks on you, I have a feeling that it would look even better on the floor." He started another trail up her other thigh.

She was at a loss for words, only moans of anticipation escaped her lips. He yanked the dress down over her body in one smooth motion and in an instant she was naked, save for her black pumps and diamond stud earrings.

She helped him out of his clothes, popping buttons and tearing at the fabrics. Soon they were both naked. He was rock hard and solid, finally free of his fabric prison, and he wasted no time claiming his reward. He slammed into her, almost brusquely, causing her to curse on contact. He pulled out of her almost completely, and then filled her again- this time slowly, more deliberately. She leaned up on her elbows and bit her lip. She'd waited far too long. "Doctor," she moaned as he slammed into her again. "Oh, God! Doctor, Fuck me!" She demanded. He closed his eyes and slowed even more. Her words, her expletives made it impossible to refuse her. It turned him on in such a way that he couldn't help but to pile drive her into the mattress. He took her by her ankles and draped them over his shoulders. Then, leaning down so that his face was close to hers and her knees were by her ears, he whispered "Your wish is my command, my love." And with that he proceeded to fuck her into oblivion, stretching her to capacity.

She screamed and moaned in beautiful agony- pleasure and pain melting together into sweet ecstasy. It took all of his will not to release at that very moment, but he knew he had to make it last. Her moans were even more motivation to keep going. They were like music to him, a symphony, a concerto. So he thrust with everything he had until he felt her tighten around him. She was quickly reaching the height of frenzy, moaning encouragements in French.

They were lost in each other, reaching the summit then spiraling in descent as they gripped one another's sweaty bodies. She clawed as his back as her pool of desire overflowed once again, her senses replaced with white noise. He emptied himself inside of her, the sensation almost painful. He roared as the feeling overtook him.

The came back down from their momentary high completely spent. She closed her eyes, convinced that she could die happy, and he had just enough energy to kiss her lips softly before he collapsed in her arms into the most peaceful sleep he'd had in years.

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**More to come! Hope you liked!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Guys! WOW! Thanks for all of your reviews! So encouraging! I really appreciate it. Now for the big confrontation.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own BBC or the characters. I wish I did though... **

**Read, enjoy, review!**

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**Chapter VII**

He could hear her heart beating steadily from his position behind her. He pressed himself closer, kissing her shoulder as he shifted behind her, listening to her breathe. He knew the peace wouldn't last, that they'd have to confront the past and the future once they were both awake. Confronting the future, the past or any time period wasn't a problem- it was what he did for a living. But it was _their_ future, _their_ past. And it absolutely terrified him. So he decided to focus on the present: the feeling of her bare flesh against his, her steady breathing, and the steady _thump-thump_ of her heart as it lulled him back to his slumber.

She, on the other hand, couldn't rest so easily. She couldn't open her eyes- or rather, she flat out refused to. She couldn't bear to open her eyes to realize that it had all been a dream. Even with his arms wrapped around her and his lips on her shoulder, she couldn't risk opening her eyes and seeing another stranger looking back at her. Or, even worse, that it hadn't been a dream and that he'd dropped her back off at her house. Every possible outcome ran through her head, none of them good. So she held onto the fantasy of last night: their lovemaking, the way he looked at her, his admissions of love. She replayed those scenes behind her closed lids because she couldn't quite handle reality at the moment.

She laid there for what felt like hours, not daring to look beyond her lashes until she felt him stir beside her. She felt his warmth fade from her as his bare feet slapped against the floor. There was a faint rustling of clothing, trousers she assumed, then walking away. Finally, she found the courage to open her eyes. The same beautiful baroque room was what she found, though the candles had been blown out. Even in the darkness of the room, she still found it breathtaking. Her thoughts were interrupted by the wheezing sound of the TARDIS engines. They were in flight.

When he returned with two cups of tea, he found her sitting straight up under the duvet, clothed in his white dress shirt; a completely un-sexy gesture of modesty and insecurity but he was only drawn to her more. He gave a small smile and she couldn't help but return it.

"Hey, you." He said, handing her a cup.

"Hey, yourself." She quipped, not quite meeting his gaze.

He took a seat across from her on the bed, not quite knowing where the conversation should go. Luckily, she started first.

"So," she began. "Taking me home, then?"

"Is that what you want?" His voice dropped. He'd finally gotten her back. It couldn't be over. Not yet. He let out a sigh of relief when he heard her say, "Not exactly." He hadn't even realized he'd been holding his breath.

"I set the coordinates for the moon's gravitational field. We're orbiting around it now. I thought it fitting since, you know, that was our first kiss." His words surprised her. Before last night, she'd hardly heard him say anything so sentimental, and never directed at her. She let another smile grace her full lips. They sat in awkward silence and sipped their tea- neither of them sure of what to do next. The Doctor had no desire to open the can of worms and spoil the beauty and absolute majesty that occurred the night before.

Suddenly he heard her. Her voice was soft, but steady. "You know we have to talk about this, right?"

"Right." He agreed, although every fiber of his being fought against it. She needed this; she needed and deserved to know and to have her questions answered. He, however, wanted nothing more than to avoid the conversation all together- to take her on adventures and erase all of the pain he had caused her and live happily ever after. But he was old and clever enough to know that 'happily ever after' didn't exactly agree with him. On the contrary, it seemed to go out of its way to elude him.

"Where do I begin?" He said, more to himself than to her. She answered anyway, feeling her need for an explanation growing. Didn't he owe her that much? She inwardly rolled her eyes, realizing far too late that she'd inherited her mother's temper and tone.

"How about at the beginning? Or maybe at 'I love you'? Either of those sound about right." She sat her empty cup in her lap and crossed her arms. Was what he said even true? Did he actually love her? Or was it some manipulative Time Lord ploy to fulfill some impulse? He never seemed like the type, but he never said he'd loved her before either. She felt her fear of the unknown bubble inside of her. Every second he wasted thinking of the right thing to say felt like hours to her.

"I'm sorry… I'm so-" She rolled her eyes. She didn't need his apologies or his pity. She now saw things for what they really were and couldn't believe she'd let herself fall for it. It was a pity fuck. Or so she thought.

"Oh God, cut the shit Doctor! Blimey! How could I be so stupid?" She jumped up from the bed, her cup shattering on the hardwood floor. He scrambled to the other side of the bed, his own cup spilling over the burgundy duvet.

"Wait, Martha! Wait. You don't understand." He cut her off at the foot of the bed. When she raised a hand to hit him, he caught it in midair, pinning her hands together against his bare chest.

"Oh, I understand just fine, Doctor! I don't need your pity! After all, 'This means nothing', right?" She spat his own words at him, and as much as it hurt, his grip remained firm. He listened silently as she continued, struggling against him all the while.

"I'm 'not replacing her', right? And to think, I really actually thought that you loved me. When really, you just deceived me. You used me to get off, is that it? I forgot how much of a liar you really were."

He closed his eyes. The rage was building. He knew he deserved this, deep down he probably even knew that things would turn out like this, but he couldn't put a leash on the anger. When he opened them again, the rage was there, but his voice was quiet.

"Martha, you're wrong." He said through clenched teeth. "You don't know how wrong you are." His hands tightened around her wrists and she stopped struggling. She was small and completely drowning in his shirt, but she seemed to grow taller in the fire of his gaze. Her eyes narrowed to mirror his, and her tongue seemed to sharpen against her teeth like a blade against a whetstone.

"Then enlighten me, oh Great One. If I'm so wrong, then what are we even doing here?"

He sighed and softened his grip, still not letting her go.

"I… love you. I have for a long time. Longer than I probably realized. I'm not sure when I realized it actually, probably long after I'd already insulted you. But when I did, I fought it. Fiercely." He looked into her eyes. They'd gone from narrow slits to dinner plates. He let her go and walked around her to sit on the bed.

"Why?" It was only one simple word, but her voice held a million questions. _Why would you deny me? If you loved me, why would you push me away? Why couldn't we just be together? Why did you treat me like shit if you loved me so much?_

"You know the answer to that."

Her eyes and heart sank.

"Rose."

"Martha, I'm 910. I'm an old man. I hadn't allowed myself to love anyone in decades. I let Rose in. Oh, it took so long, but I did. I let her in. And we were happy. Then she was ripped away from me before I could even tell her what she meant. I loved her." His voice was cracking, but commanding. Something in his tone asked for her silence.

"You two are so different. She was smart, but so naïve. I took her with me to have someone adore me. To show her things that she could only imagine in her wildest dreams She was a shop girl- not that anything's wrong with that, but when she met me, she was a child of 18 and her worldview was… limited. I loved her because she made me feel powerful. I could do anything and save anyone because she hadn't known much else." Martha knew she should be feeling hate for the way he talked about Rose, the way that the distant girl's name rolled off of his tongue and landed in the pit of her stomach, the way that he could still make her feel so small. However, she felt the small veins of compassion rise, much to her dismay.

"When I met you, you were so different. I thought that was what I needed. You two were almost opposites. You were clever, quick on your toes in a street-smart sort of way. You'd already traveled the world before you met me, knew different languages despite the TARDIS translation matrix, you were brilliant _outside_ of me. You were intriguing for how much you didn't need me. You hardly ever needed saving. You saved yourself more times than I ever did.

I must've felt it back then. When I left you the first time. That's why I treated you that way. I was falling for this smart, beautiful human medical student, yet I wasn't over the shop girl. I took it out on you, pushed you away, but couldn't bear to let you go."

He looked up from his spot on the bed, taking her hand. "You were so devoted to me. You gave me your last breath. I remember that. You kept me sane in 1969. You took care of me in 1913. You walked the earth for me. I remember it all; the little things and the big things. But most of all, I remember how you loved me more than anything and how I took that love for granted. I've carried it with me for so long. After you left me, I was broken, but didn't know why. I was angry at you for leaving. Angry at myself for letting yet another woman I loved get ripped away without saying anything. I didn't even notice how much better you made me. Nor how absolutely crazy you must have felt staying with me as long as you did. I didn't notice until I saw Tom's ring on your finger." Her heart hurt at the thought of Tom. The guilt threatened to rise like bile from her throat, but she forced it back down. He continued.

"I thought I'd just get over you; that it was infatuation because you were beautiful and smart and devoted. But it only got worse. And seeing you walk down that aisle was unbearable. But seeing you cry at the funeral was worse. I would have done anything to take away your pain. Seeing you so happy with Mickey, of all people- well that was just a cosmic slap in the face. It was what I deserved: My ultimate reward. I 'stole' Rose from him, and he stole you from me."

It was here she decided to interject.

"Doctor, no matter how you feel about me now or felt about me then, Mickey didn't steal me. You threw me away. 'One man's trash' and all…" her voice was soft and logical. Martha sat down beside him.

"Am I supposed to feel bad because you figured it out too late? Doctor, what was a slow burn for you was a wild fire for me. I suffered waiting for your love. You're right. I was devoted. I loved you so much and I paid with my heart. You could never know how painful that is: everyone you come in contact with has no choice but to love you. But you could never understand the other side of that coin. Seeing me get married twice, feeing the way you say you do, must have hurt you. But not nearly as much as living with you, traveling beside you for all that time, and all the while living in her shadow." She had tears in her eyes that she refused to let spill. He wasn't off the hook that easily.

"I know-"

"No Doctor," she cut him off, her voice still quiet. "You don't know. I risked my life for you time and time again. I was prepared to die for you at one point and you treated me like shit. What kind of love does that? If you loved me like you say, why treat me like second-no- third best?"

"I'd like to make it up to you. I know I don't deserve it, but I want to make it right. I was scared. I didn't want to lose you or watch you die. But if you leave me now, Martha, I… I don't…"

He broke off, unable to continue. He'd been holding her hand, but now he was crushing it in his grasp. She felt the warm drops that his tears left on her skin. Her heart swelled with love and compassion. The tears she'd been holding onto finally fell.

"Martha, I love you. Give me a chance to show you. Please." She never heard the Doctor beg for anything and look in his eyes told her he meant it. She loved him, and she couldn't get him out of her system. It was time to face facts.

"I love you too, Doctor." Her eyes locked on his before bringing his hands to her lips and kissing them gently. A quivering smile crept onto her lips.

He leaned forward and kissed her sweetly. With their emotions finally laid bare, he was beginning to feel like they finally had a shot at a fresh start.

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**Whew! Done and Done! What's going to happen next? REVIEW GUYS!**

**xoxo, LPL**


	8. Chapter 8

**Why hello there, Readers! I just want to apologize for not updating for a while. I also want to tell you how much I love and appreciate reading your reviews. They're like water to me. So thanks!**

**I'm actually kind of surprised that this would be my longest chapter so far. I didn't intend for it to be so detailed but it just poured out all over my keyboard. **

**There are BIG, HUMONGAZIOD things happening in the world of LPL. Chapter updates coming up soon, fragments of stories written on cell phones. Inspiration coming out the wazoo! Things are getting very real, very fast so be on the lookout! **

**Welp, enough of my ramblings: on with the show!**

**_Disclaimer:_**** I'm just borrowing the characters. I'll give them right back, I swear!**

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**Chapter VIII**

They sat on the bed for what seemed like hours; so much said, and so much yet to say. His kisses were a far cry from what they'd been the night before. What had been hungry and ravenous was now desperate and urgent at the possibility of losing her.

Martha accepted his kisses eagerly. She was going nowhere, at least not anytime soon. She knew she couldn't hold the past over his head forever, and she felt better after getting years of unspoken anger and grief off of her chest. With all of the pent-up emotion gone, the only thing left was what she'd denied herself for far too long: raw, unbridled love. The tears that fell between them shed the weight of the morning's argument.

No more words were needed. All of the most important ones had already been said. Yet he spoke anyway. "I promise you. If you let me, I'll always take care of you. I know you don't need protecting, but you are so important... so precious to me. I could never lose you. It would kill me."

His voice was a hoarse whisper, his face so close to hers that she was breathing in his air. She didn't speak, rendered mute by stress and emotion. She'd yelled, cried, and kissed until her mouth was dry and then some. She simply nodded in silent agreement and their deal was sealed with another chaste kiss to his lips.

"Come with me." With those words, he led her to a door that she hadn't seen before. She assumed it was another one of the TARDIS's adventures in redecorating. Through the door was an elaborate bathroom reminiscent to the decadence of the bedroom it was attached to. Everything seemed to be made of cream marble and gold hardware. The floors were heated and the air smelled of vanilla. There were candles lit everywhere. She vaguely wondered if it was all real or some kind of perception trick. She could have been in a storage closet for all she knew, and the TARDIS would make it look like the Rockefeller mansion.

He led her to the spacious shower and unbuttoned her only item of clothing- his white dress shirt which, he decided, looked better on her than it ever did on him. She stood there before him, naked and unashamed as his eyes roamed over her body.

"Martha Jones, you are absolutely beautiful."

She offered a blush and a quiet "Thank You" in return before leaning in on tip-toes to kiss him. It seemed as if that was all they did these past few hours. Without breaking the kiss, she began to free him from his trousers, letting them drop to the floor. He slid open the door to the giant walk-in shower and turned the knob to the perfect temperature before ushering her in before him.

The warm water felt glorious against her tight skin. But it was nothing compared to the feeling of his hands on her body. The water washed over them and the steam rose around them. He picked up an unmarked mason jar from the ledge filled with an iridescent silvery gel. Once he unscrewed the lid, she recognized the scent: his scent. The unnamable scent of things primordial and neoteric and ancient and sparklingly new. She recognized it from every single time she was in his presence- the scent of time. He poured a bit of soap into his palm and turned her around. He slowly massaged her wet hair, her neck and shoulders- every bit of her he lathered in the silvery gel. She couldn't help but moan as his hands worked their magic. They moved slowly and carefully over her skin as if she was made of glass- as if trying to prove exactly how precious she was to him. He even bent down to wash her feet.

She returned to favor- small, soapy, fully capable hands roved over his tall frame. He awkwardly stooped down so that she could reach his neck and hair. They shared short laughs interrupted by spurts of kisses erupting from the sheer intensity of the moment. But they didn't speak, simply enjoyed the comfortable silence between them. His fingers roamed over her smooth skin- more praising than ravaging. This wasn't about sex. Oh no, this was a cleansing of bodies and spirits. A connecting of souls and fingers on flesh. A gesture of caring and protection and love from both.

When they were clean, he stepped from the shower, wrapping one plush cream colored towel around his waist. He helped her out and wrapped her similarly, the towel draped around her entire body. Though she'd never admit it aloud, she rather enjoyed the way he was treating her; for once, she wasn't strong Martha, or brave Martha, or soldier Martha, or Doctor Martha. She was just _his _Martha- fragile and vulnerable and all his.

He led her, still silently, to the bed and laid her down. She turned over to her stomach, getting comfortable on her pillow. He left her for a few moments and came back with a small bottle filled with a thick, clear liquid. She stayed silent as he unfastened her towel and straddled her. She could feel him growing hard under his own towel, but he made no suggestive move.

Then she felt it- the warm, clear oil dripping onto her back. It smelled faintly of some unearthly citrus. He massaged her neck, back and arms from his position- his expert fingers kneading her soft flesh, working the oil into her skin. She let out another series of moans; this was way better (and hotter) than the spa back on Earth. His hands moved sensually slow across her body. Then he began to speak.

"This," he said, tracing a small scar on her left side. "This is from when we were running from those pig slaves. And this," He traced another one, "is where that crazy Professor Lazarus nicked you. I was so scared that you would fall. I was so helpless." His voice was soft, wistful as he revisited the memory.

He shifted, and moved down her body. She moaned again as he pushed and pulled and kneaded her bum, still dripping in warm oil. She could feel him growing even harder. Still he made no move to enter her. He just continued down her legs. He stopped at her ankles before gently turning her over to face him.

He marveled at her naked body- at all of the things he failed notice in the heated passion of the previous night. All of a sudden, the rise of her breasts, the apex of her thighs, and the cupid's bow of her lips held a new significance. He set forth on the task of committing every freckle and mole to memory- every detail of her intricate design as he continued his massage. She noticed how his towel tented with need, and wanted nothing more than to sooth the aching desire that seemed almost palpable between them. But she held off, deciding that if she let him take the lead her patience would soon be rewarded.

"This one," his hand grazed a long scar across her abdomen before staring deeply into her eyes. "I was so scared. I thought I was going to lose you. It was right before 1913. We were running from the family. I never told you this, but I used my regeneration energy to heal you while you were unconscious. It was purely stupid and selfish of me, but I couldn't just let you die." He told the story of her every bump, bruise and scar.

The ones he didn't know, she filled in the blanks. "This is when I let Tish try and give me a tattoo in middle school. She used a safety pin and ink from a pen. I screamed bloody murder and we were both grounded for a month." She said when he asked about the strange mark on her collar bone.

"Fell off my bike when I was ten. Tried to ride with no hands." She explained the scar on her knee. Again he stopped at her ankles before moving from her completely.

Skilled, well-oiled hands massaged her feet. Suddenly, a sensation shot from her right foot, straight to her core. She involuntarily arched her back and moaned loudly. She realized what he was doing as he pressed his thumb against her foot again.

"What? Didn't they teach you about reflexology in med school?" he said with a smirk. She readied herself for a witty comeback when she was hit with another wave of pleasure. "Oh my God!" She writhed in his hands, completely at his mercy. He continued on to the other foot, mercilessly, describing every pressure point as he hit it until she reached the threshold of her pleasure and came hard, breathlessly screaming his name.

He watched as she came back down from her high- his eyes trailing from her full lips, down her neck to the rise of her breasts. He licked his lips as his eyes rested one perky nipple, then the other. He rose to kiss her lips tenderly and she kissed him back with equal fervor on, catching his bottom lip between her teeth. He pulled his lip from her mouth reluctantly and moved down her body- enjoying the sensation of sliding down her body, still slick with oil and the dewy sweat from her first of many orgasms.

The Doctor took one nipple in his mouth, teasing the other with his hand. His tongue flicked and curled around the aching flesh while his hand pinched and pulled causing her a pain so delicious that she couldn't decide whether she wanted him to stop or not. He switched after only a few seconds, and she _almost _protested, but the mischievous gleam in his eye as he looked up at her made her think better of the idea.

He only spent a few seconds on each nipple before kissing and licking her way down her body. He smiled against the smooth skin below her navel before kissing the hot wet lips of her nether regions. Martha's breath hitched and her hips bucked involuntarily. He swirled the swollen bud of her clit with his tongue before placing one long lick after another from the bottom of the wet opening to the top of the sensitive bit of flesh.

She moaned loudly, uttering incoherent encouragements. Finally, he began his sweet assault of her, his tongue flicking and his lips working againgst her. She was quickly reaching delirium as he drank her like a man dying of thirst. Her body seemed to disconnect itself as she began to unravel: her hips seemed to work themselves against his waiting mouth non-stop. Her legs couldn't decide whether to open as wide as humanly possible- allowing him to climb inside if he so wished- or to close tightly around him like a human guillotine. Her hands tried desperately to find something to hold onto, and her mouth worked completely independent from her brain- which seemed to be offline. She lost and caught her breath in turns, with filthy words and encouragements littered in-between. These dirty exaltations only spurred him forward. He could feel her body heat rising as she raked both hands through his scalp.

A white-hot streak of electricity shot through her and clouded her vision as she screamed his name, but he never stopped. He continued his ministrations, bringing her to a third and fourth orgasm- at the end of which she had to summon all of the strength she had left to physically remove his face from the meal he had made of her.

She was in a haze of pure, uncut pleasure. Her brain was still offline and her body was pure sensation; electricity shooting through her every nerve at the slightest touch. So when his lips came to rest at the crook of her neck, it was all she could do not to melt out of her skin completely.

He whispered sweet _somethings _to her as she recovered from his onslaught of pleasure. "I'm insatiable, Martha. You do this to me. Only you. I've never wanted someone as much as I want you. And believe me, I want you all the time, my love. " She'd known of the power of words from her experience in 1599, but Martha Jones never thought that words could make this happen! In a matter of mere minutes, she was ready and willing to go another round even though she'd been completely spent with nothing more to give. Somehow, his words rejuvenated her and touched her in a way that made her insatiable too.

She felt another wave of tension build inside of her, wanting desperately to be released. Her hands traveled down his body slowly, coming to rest on his swollen, rock hard organ. When she looked him in the eye, she could see the love and lust and need for release. Their lips met in a fit of passion as she began to grip and slide her expert hands. His moans were more like growls- rough, raspy, beastly sounds of pleasure as she circled the pad of her thumb over the wet, sensitive tip.

Feeling him shudder in her grasp made her feel a new sense of power. She let go of him and broke the kiss, bringing her wet thumb to her lips and enjoying his taste. She harnessed her strength and turned him onto his back, straddling him. In one fluid movement, she guided him inside of her, earning them both a sweet, guttural moan. She paused for only a moment, adjusting herself to the angle and to the thickness inside of her. He'd slipped into her easily, but now her insides held him in a vice grip. The wave of pleasure threatened to sweep him away as she began to move her hips.

"Slower…" he moaned with eyes half open. "Keep up that pace and it'll be over before you know it." His hands fell on her hips, his thumbs pressing into her hip bones as he guided her to the perfect rhythm. She arched herself back, her hands resting on his thighs behind her as she undulated her body to his beat. From his position, he had the perfect view (he suspected she knew that). His eyes trailed down his own skin to where his melted into hers, then up her hot sex to her smooth, tight stomach, to her perfect breasts and up her neck. Her head was thrown back and all he could make out were her lips, parted and moaning in supreme pleasure.

His eyes followed the trail back down, coming to rest between her spread legs. Blindly, instinctually, he reached his thumbs downward. One thumb pulled back gently on her skin, exposing her, while the other massaged the sensitive bud. It was as if he'd found her remote control: she instantly moaned loudly and lurched forward. She leaned forward, bracing herself with her hands on his chest. "Keep doing that and it'll be over before you know it." She said, mocking him breathlessly. Ever defiant, he continued and, only seconds later, she was tightening and releasing around him in an explosion of white hot pleasure as her fingernails dug into the flesh on his chest.

He sat up as her fifth orgasm subsided, and her hands scrambled to find stability around his neck. He grabbed her hips again and thrust upward. Their lips pressed together concealing their moans as he ravaged the beautiful woman sitting on his lap. He slammed into her as he quickly ascended to the peak of his own delirium.

"Do you love me?" He asked suddenly, suddenly fearful of her answer. They were face-to-face, lips still touching, and still climbing.

"Yes! Oh God, Doctor! Yes, I love you more than anything. I always have!" She replied breathlessly.

"Do you trust me?" His head sank down to her shoulder and he bit down hard as his own long-awaited orgasm threatened to drown both of them. Their sex had become violent.

She let out a high pitched squeal, pleasure and pain battling on her shoulder and between her legs as he continued to pummel her with upward thrusts.

She raked her nails across his back and gripped the hair on his head tightly.

"With my life, Doctor. With my heart!" As if that was the key to unlocking his powerful orgasm, he came hard and, miraculously, so did she. He released and emptied himself inside of her with those guttural, beastly growls and his teeth sinking into her shoulder, tasting her blood. It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like lifetimes. It felt like stars colliding and exploding and swirling into new universes and imploding into themselves at the same time. It felt like worlds forming and disintegrating. It felt like the turn of the universe.

He laid back, still holding her against his chest, both of them drenched in sweat. No more words were needed and no more words were spoken. Not bothering to slip himself out of her, he covered them both with a silky sheet. He heard her breathing evenly and knew she was sleeping soundly. With a kiss to the top of her head, he drifted off peacefully as well: Three heartbeats in perfect sync.

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**Whew! Believe it or not, that was kind of exhausting! Hope you liked! Believe me, I'm nowhere near done with this one! Review!**

**xoxo, LPL**


	9. Chapter 9

**It's been so long! I'm sorry guys, school has been kicking my ASS! I'm back though. At least for a little bit. I hope you like it I have ****_so_**** many different storylines in my head that I refuse to entertain because I have too many running series already. I'm running the risk of abandoning a few as it is.**

**Oh yeah, and read some of my other stories too! Thankkksss ;)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything... Just borrowing.**

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Chapter IX

He was almost positive that he's fallen asleep a Time Lord. So how he had somehow been transformed into a being of beast of pure sensation upon awakening? Every nerve in his body seemed to hum and twitch from the reverberations between his legs. He felt himself unsheathed by Martha's velvety warmth, leaving only uncomfortable, sticky cold in its wake as she slipped off of him and out of the bed. He'd almost forgotten that there were other needs besides the carnal ones.

When he finally ventured to open his eyes, he saw he peering over her shoulder just before closing the bathroom door. He simply reveled in his sated happiness, for once not thinking of how long it would last.

When he heard the water running, he decided to join her. He found her standing in the full-length mirror poking absently at the bruises on her hips and thighs. However, she kept furrowed brows fixed on the large bite mark that purpled against the caramel of her skin. She winced as she picked a bit of blood from the wound.

Standing next to her, he took the opportunity to examine his own battle scars: bruises covered his neck and chest. However, the _pièce de résistance _were the deep red half-moons from where her nails dug into his skin of his chest. He turned to see where she'd clawed at his back during their fevered love-making. Blood stuck to his skin as well. He could have healed himself easily, but he chose to wear the sweet stigmata as a badge of honor. Besides, after seeing the damage she'd inflicted, Martha was a bit more forgiving about the ugly bite.

They shared a shower, purely in the interest of saving water, the Doctor claimed. But they both knew better. They spent days in carefree bliss: watching low-budget horror films, attempting obscure alien recipes in the elaborate TARDIS kitchen, and practicing mastering each other's anatomy.

The Doctor ordered from a Chicago pizzeria, claiming that they "literally have the best pizza in all of the seven galaxies. _And I would know!_" And Martha laughed aloud as he asked to have it delivered to the blue police box on the corner. It was all so terribly, disgustingly domestic and the Doctor, for the first time in…well… forever, was perfectly OK with that. But underneath it all of the happy, the carefree, the adventure of no adventure, he could feel her unrest.

* * *

So, on the fifth day, he finally asked.

She sat on the burgundy duvet in the baroque themed room they shared.

"Nobody's called yet." Martha looked up at him with a sad smile- her eyes full of meaning. He couldn't quite connect her dots.

"By Earth time, it should be Thursday…" She trailed off. The picture was fuzzy, but slowly came into view.

"Timey-Wimey."

The picture was clear.

"You've been here for five days with a job and a life and a family, but nobody's called so… they must not have reason to call." He surmised. "You're leaving."

"I have to go back. I'd love to stay. You _know_ I would. I'd stay with you forever, but you know why I can't." Her smile was gone.

"I know. And I would never ask you to."

The words hadn't been true until he said them. In truth, he'd have asked her, tried to reason, tried to make it make sense. Then he said those words and they became fact. He couldn't ask her to abandon her family, her job, and her life for him and his uncertain existence. Just as he knew she could never ask him to give up travelling the stars.

She agreed to stay for one more day, but she knew she couldn't stay for too much longer. She couldn't run from real life forever. Even so, the knowledge was bittersweet. She had finally found her missing piece, only to have to give it up in exchange for the rest of the puzzle.

The Doctor could admit that he was a bit unnerved by the situation: his revelation, its culmination, and now, its dissipation. But what he refused to admit was that the Oncoming Storm was legitimately terrified. Somehow, Martha Jones had found a way to burrow under 900 years of skin and scars and nestled in the intersection of his hearts. She'd become his security blanket. They'd crossed every line and it was impossible to just go back to the way things were. He couldn't just give her up…again. And he couldn't forget her.

So they made plans. And in between that, they made love. He penetrated her with reckless abandon; desperate, exploding passion. He made love to her full of hope: hope that maybe if he loved her hard enough she'd stay. Or maybe she'd ask him to. Or maybe, by some miracle, this sacred act would join them as one being and he could live inside of her forever.

She could feel the desperation that he pounded into her and wanted nothing more than to soothe him. To reassure him- both of them- that everything would be OK. That once she left, that wouldn't just be it.

* * *

When they materialized in her living room, it was Sunday again and bittersweet still. He promised to visit as often as he possibly could and to take care of himself (even though, she knew the second one would be the hardest to do).

She promised to call if she needed him- or even if she didn't. She promised that they would make it work; after all, they'd been through worse, hadn't they? (Even though, at that exact moment, she couldn't think of anything.)

When he asked to spend the night, just one more, she gladly said yes. Though they didn't speak of it, though they tiptoed around it, an air of uncertainty clung to their clothes and skin and souls because they both knew the truth: Once he stepped back into the TARDIS, there was no guarantee that the Doctor would ever see Martha Jones again.

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**I had A bit more, but I'll save it for the next chapter. I know it got a little angsty, but I hope you liked it! Review (please)!**

**xoxo, LPL**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey guys! I just want you ALL to know how much I love reading your reviews. You are what keep me writing! I hope you love this story as much as I do. Read and review!**

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**Chapter X**

He left when she did- he, in the TARDIS and she, in her sports car.

She almost called in sick, but settled for a tandem shower instead. The Doctor took his time making love to her, even though she had somewhere to go. He chose her outfit: A TARDIS blue pencil skirt and blazer, a light blue shirt, and dark red pumps- to her amusement. He made her breakfast and a strong cup of coffee just the way she liked it. From the moment he opened his eyes, eyes that opened to her peacefully sleeping face, he knew that he would always come back to her. Even if he had to leave her today, it wouldn't be the last time and they could make it through anything. Even if it was a bit fairytale, their love would survive.

They said their shallow goodbyes and promised that it wouldn't be for too long. But with that last kiss goodbye, they said everything that needed saying: the love, the hope, and her confident reassurance and his determination not to lose her again set their minds at ease.

* * *

Martha returned to work amid the stares of her coworkers. She was running late_- another effort to conserve water gone pleasantly awry,_ she thought. Besides, she couldn't have been that late. Only five to ten minutes at the latest, but her coworkers gawked at her openly, whispering to each other. She checked her cell phone, making sure the Doctor hadn't gotten the date wrong. It amazed her how even super- secret special agents could be reduced to petty gossip.

However, once she rounded the corner to her huge corner office, Chief Medical Officer Martha Jones saw exactly what the gossip was about: the aforementioned huge corner office had been transformed into a sea of white. Calla lilies flooded every inch of the floor and desks, save for the narrow pathway left clear so that she could tiptoe from the door to her desk without breaking her neck on the vased plants.

She jumped a bit, startled by the voice behind her. "They were delivered this morning." Colonel Mace mused, obviously enjoying the discomfort of the usually cool, calm Dr. Jones. "Nobody knows who they're from."

"I think I know." She said, returning the smirk of her superior.

* * *

She didn't call him right away: after all, he'd only been gone for an hour. Instead, she enjoyed the earthy scent of the flowers as she completed her reports and watched the women (and some of the men) continue in their merciless gossip. She loved being the center of attention, though she'd never admit it.

When lunch time came around, she pulled out her mobile and scrolled down to the Doctor's name (which he had seen fit to add hearts and stars to, given their updated relationship status.)

"Hello, dear!" He said cheerily. "Missing me already?"

"I hope all of that cheek isn't contagious."

"Of course it is! I got it all from you!"

She heard the TARDIS groan in disgust at their banter as if to say _'Cut it out, you two.'_

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Calla lilies." She said with a laugh at his mock absentmindedness.

"Speaking of Calla lilies, did you ever notice how much they resemble a female -"

"Doctor!" She laughed again, positively giddy at this point.

"Right… Sorry. So what about Calla lilies?"

"The fact that there were about 45 dozen or more packed into my office this morning. What do you have to say for yourself, mister?"

There was a long silence on the other end before the Doctor spoke.

"I didn't sent you any flowers, Martha." His tone said that he really had no clue what she was talking about.

"Hmmm… maybe not yet. Could future you have sent them? Maybe you got the date a bit wonky- wouldn't be the first time."

"I don't think so. I know they're one of your favorites, but I wouldn't send you Calla lilies, Martha. Just not my style. Or any other Earth flower, really. They just shrivel up and die after a day. Selloria! That's what I'd get you. Absolutely stunning, but murder to grow. Very temperamental flora. They're only grown in a small quadrant of the Falaxus galaxy- which is about a billion billion light-years away from you. But like I said: they're a pain to grow, but once they're separated from their roots they stay perfectly formed in a sort of suspended animation for hundreds of years. Literally, hundreds! Now _THAT_, Martha, _that_ is what I call undying love… Martha?"

She was caught up in her own thoughts- half wondering how the Doctor's tongue didn't get fed up and walk out after a rant like that (although she had no complaints about that talented, machine-gun tongue), and half wondering if the Doctor didn't send the flowers, who did? She snapped out of her reverie.

"So you don't know who might have sent you the flowers?" He said, now mirroring her nervous curiosity. It was then that she saw it: the smallest and most innocent of notes. It was stuck to one of the bouquets that had been on her desk and was now sitting on the floor of her office. By her estimation, the bouquet the note was stuck to formerly sat in the middle of her desk. She read it, then reread it again and again.

"Doctor, I'm going to have to call you back." She said before ending the call.

The small note, no bigger than a business card, had succeeded in thoroughly shaking her to her core. It's neat, boxy scrawl was unassuming and seemingly innocuous, but she knew better.

_These flowers are nowhere near as beautiful as you._

_-Your Loving Husband_

* * *

At five o'clock, she practically ran to her car. She was vaguely aware of red lights and disregarded traffic signs completely, speeding to her suburban home. She was both apprehensive and reluctant to get home. She couldn't have forgotten could she? She really wasn't that stupid. She stormed up the drive way and fumbled with her keys- which seemed bent on keeping her outside of her home.

Once she was inside, she ripped through the house. The drawers of the office, the walk-in closet, and even the medicine cabinet fell victim to her ravenous search. Finally, she found what she was looking for: on the kitchen table, under a stack of mail, magazines, and newspapers, was the brown envelope. Her name was written on the front in those same boxy letters. Right where the Doctor had left them two months before, were her divorce papers- unsigned and still in her possession.

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**Oh, Martha! How could you forget about THAT!? Seems like Mickey's having some second thoughts about the divorce. Hmmm.. Lots of places for this to go. Stay tuned! Review if you want more.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey guys! It's been a while. I've missed you! Here's the next installment of Full Circle. I'm not quite pleased with it though. I wanted it to be longer but it didn't quite come to me, so I present to you these humble offerings. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own it, not making any money.**

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**Chapter XI:**

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A distant buzzing broke her from her catatonic state at the kitchen table. She had no clue how long she'd been sitting there, staring at the wicked stack of papers. It could have been minutes. It could have been months. But now, reality called- _literally_. She ran to the next room for her bag, wishing that she could ignore real life completely, but she knew if she didn't answer, he'd just appear in her living room anyway- which would be much worse.

"Hey, you!" She said, a bit too enthusiastically while trying to hide her distress. The last thing she needed was for him to know that she was still married. Even if it was an accident. He didn't seem to notice.

"Hello love. Did you ever find out who the flowers were from? Inquiring minds are dying to know."

"Nope." She lied. "A secret admirer."

"Hmmm.. That's some admirer. An office full of flowers and no name to attach them to. Ah well, stranger things…"

They made small talk before the TARDIS picked up a distress signal. He promised he'd be back as soon as he solved the universe's latest crisis. They exchanged 'I love yous' and she hung up quickly, getting back into her own head.

"Quick fix, right?" She said aloud. "Just sign the papers and send them back. See? Quick. Easy. Simple. Right. Sign the papers. Send them back." She made her way back to the kitchen.

"But what about the flowers? And the note? Why did he send the flowers?" She bit at her nails and walked back towards living room. She was pacing, making and unmaking decisions. She hadn't thought about Mickey; hadn't considered that he might throw a wrench into her current contentment.

Then she remembered, and she instantly felt the waves of guilt as they washed over her. Their anniversary.

As if on cue, the phone rang again. It was him.

* * *

Despite the anger, the sadness, the guilt… she couldn't help but smile. She had loved him- still loved him in her own way. He was sweet, kind, compassionate and strong. He was always the one to remember the little things, even when birthdays, parties, and special events slipped from her memory. He had been the sentimental one in their relationship, where she was the one who was always too busy. Always unavailable- physically and emotionally.

Her head was always somewhere else, and he knew it, but he never made her feel bad. In fact, he went out of his way, sacrificing his own feelings so that she _wouldn't_ have to deal with the guilt she currently felt. He knew what he was getting himself into, knew that she was still in love with The Doctor, but hoped against hope that he could change her mind. He loved her unconditionally, and she didn't realize how fully and deeply she'd been hurting him until it was too late. Until he walked out on her, unable to take the strain of her unrequited love any longer. It was then that she realized that she'd treated him the way the Doctor had treated her in her time on the TARDIS- except what she did was worse. Instead of ignoring his feeling completely, she acknowledged them and _acted_ as if the feelings were mutual- all the way to the point of marrying him.

It was for those reasons that she picked up the phone. It was out of love and respect for the husband and friend he'd been. For how much she'd put him through.

"Hello," She said into the receiver, trying to calm her quivering voice. Another thing about Mickey: he was perceptive as _hell_.

"What's wrong?" He asked, and her heart warmed at the alarm and concern in his voice. He was concerned for her. Their last conversation had ended in a fight and with him giving up on their marriage. Their last conversation had been 5 months ago. Their last correspondence had been the divorce papers, 2 months ago, and he was still concerned for her.

"It's nothing." She said, knowing that no matter how convincing she might have sounded, he would still be able to tell something was wrong. "Thank you for the flowers. Caused quite a scene, you know." Martha changed the subject and he graciously didn't push the issue.

"Sorry about that. But hey, what anniversary isn't complete without an office full of flowers?" She let out a genuine laugh. "Now there's something that I haven't heard in a while. That trademark, Jones-woman" cackle of yours. It's genetic, I tell you. You, your mum, Tish… all of you Jones women… you _cackle_." She laughed again.

"Oi! At least I don't snort, Mister!" She teased back. She missed this easy banter. It was one of the things that attracted them in the first place.

"Oh, it was one time. One snort and you'll never let me live it down, will you?"

"Nope!" She replied, popping the 'p' like _He_ did. Like the Doctor. She mentally cursed the slip, knowing he'd notice. There was an awkward silence before he spoke up.

"Well, I just wanted to see if you wanted to come to dinner. I know we're not really, uhh… together, but…" He was unsure of how to continue, she could tell, and she was unsure of how she'd answer.

They weren't together, but they were still married. She and The Doctor were in love, but she still wasn't quite sure what they were. She knew life and love with The Doctor would never be as easy, as safe, and as predictable as simple admissions of love. The other shoe had yet to drop. Her thoughts stilled as he continued.

"You're my wife. And it's our anniversary. We got married two years ago, today. And I guess just wanted to celebrate it. Will you accompany me to dinner, Martha?" He sounded hopeful and she remembered when they were 'happy'; holding hands, walking through the park, going on freelance missions as a team- as a family. She remembered how her mother loved him and why. She remembered how he liked his coffee and always packed her lunch in the morning. She remembered the way he made love to her. She remembered the pain as he walked past her and out of the door.

"Pick me up at 8?"

* * *

**Whoa, Nelly! What's going on Martha? What do you think will happen?**

**Review!**

**xoxo, LPL**


	12. Chapter 12

**My lovelies! I'm back! Sorry I've been away for so long, but I had to make sure that this was as good as it could possibly be. I know that last chapter was kind of like "WHAT the WHAT?"... Unfortunately this one is too. OOPSY! Don't worry. The fluff shall return soon. Enjoy! **

**Oh and SUPER DUPER THANKS to _Sheena is a Punk Rocker_ for being a super awesome sounding board and suggestion guru. You're amazing, Hun!**

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**XII**

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She settled on the blue one. The red one was, well, red: the trademark color of seduction. Seduction wasn't what she was after. The purple one was cut too low: not only did it show too much cleavage, it gave a clear view of all the bruises. The tan one was too business-y, the white one would probably be covered in red wine by the end of the night, and the black one, well, the black one was still in a crumpled heap on the TARDIS floor.

No, the blue one would have to do. And she'd have to wear a jacket: The jacket's thin straps didn't quite cover the purple bite on her shoulder. "What's he got, space teeth?" She muttered to herself as she marveled at the bruise, simultaneously finding it horrifying and beautiful. Martha pulled the dress over her head: A simple, cobalt dress with a high neckline. It only grazed her curves and stopped just short of her knee. Sexy, but not too sexy, she decided.

She wore her makeup light and her hair down over her shoulder, trying in vain to cover the rest of the marks. To the casual observer, Martha Jones might have looked battered. But Martha knew: these were the marks of a woman who'd been _very_ thoroughly loved.

She slipped on black heels and a black blazer just as the doorbell rang. Her _husband_ was at the door. She suddenly felt guilty. Even given their separated status, even though she hadn't exactly cheated, she felt as though she had deceived Mickey. She grabbed her bag and made her way to the door.

She didn't bother with a fake smile, he would have been able to tell anyway. Feigning happiness would have been a slap in the face to them both. However, when she finally opened the door, a genuine smile broke out before she realized it.

"Hey," She squeaked through a Cheshire grin. She really had missed him.

"Hey, you." He spoke quietly, trying to conceal a smile of his own. His eyes traveled down her body, then back up to her eyes. "You look… nice." Nice was an understatement. His eyes on hers said as much, and she was suddenly self-conscious. She pulled the jacket closer to her body.

Mickey cleared his throat. "Well, we should be off then. Our reservation is at 8:30."

He took her hand, but didn't attempt the hug. Not yet.

* * *

Dinner was at their favorite restaurant: an intimate, upscale restaurant where they'd spent dates, birthdays, and their last anniversary. So when they entered the establishment, it was as if they were greeting old friends. Everything seemed so… normal. An echo of her old life.

"Ahhh, it's the Smiths! Long time, no see ehh?" The maître d said, clasping his hands in front of him. "How's my favorite couple doing? I half expected there to be a reservation for two and a half!" He said to the couple, oblivious to their recent troubles. Mickey just let out a bitter chuckle. Martha wasn't amused. Peter, the maître d didn't seem to notice. He led them to their usual table in the corner.

Dinner went better than she expected. To say they were like newlyweds again was a stretch, but there was a comfortableness she had come to miss in the months she'd spent alone. Conversation just came so easy as they caught up on the last five months. She strategically left out her recently kicked habit of sleeping with strangers as well as her relationship with The Doctor. They laughed their way through dessert. Just like old times.

* * *

He suggested they go for a walk, but she declined- deciding that she should call it a night. When he pulled up to what used to be their home, he got out and opened her door.

"I had a really good time tonight." He said once they reached the front door. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes penetrating.

"I did too." Martha admitted. "I-"

She didn't get a chance to complete that statement because at that moment, his lips crushed hers. Thus began the downward spiral of a pretty perfect evening. It took a moment to process: his lips on hers, a husband kissing a wife. She then realized the gravity of the situation: _Holy shit! Mickey's kissing me. Right now. I'm in love with The Doctor. I was just with him this morning. This has to stop. NOW._

She pushed him away.

"What's the matter? I thought… I thought things were going well…"

He looked positively crestfallen. She hated the look on his face just then.

"Mickey… we shouldn't- I mean we can't…" she stammered through an explanation that even _she _didn't fully understand.

"Maybe you should just come in. We need to talk."

Pleased, Mickey followed his wife into the house. However, his pleasure was short lived as he saw the papers strewn over the coffee table along with a brown envelope; the divorce papers he'd left two months ago- signed.

"I'm sorry, Mickey. We just can't. We can't keep acting like everything's fine between us. I love you, but you were right. You deserve someone without so much…. _baggage_."

"No, Martha. I wasn't. I was so, _so _wrong." He took her hands in his and kissed them tenderly before taking a seat on the couch and bringing her with him. "I love you. We can- I don't know- see a counselor. We can work through it. I'm empty without you. Please, let's just go back to the way things were before, yeah?" He was so hopeful, it almost made her hopeful too. Almost.

"Mickey, I just can't. It's not fair to either one of us." She took her jacket off and hung it on the back of the couch before turning back to him. They had spent the whole night dancing around this very issue, and if it were to be confronted, it should be done with care. "I'm in love with someone else, and I can't let you just hang around waiting for me to come around. You're an amazing man, and an even better husband and you don't deserve what little I can give. You deserve someone who values you, who loves and cherishes you. Someone normal, who can give you a happy, quiet life. I love you, Mickey Smith. Just not enough."

She was proud of herself: finally acting like an adult in this relationship and tying up all of the loose ends. That it, until she realized that he hadn't been listening. Instead, his eyes were fixed on her shoulder: on the dark impression left by the Doctor. _So much for confronted with care_, she thought. Martha cursed and mentally flogged herself for forgetting to keep it hidden. Her expletive seemed to jolt him from his trance.

"Who was it then?" His voice held an eerie calm.

"Mickey, just leave it. It's not important."

"It was him, wasn't it? Please don't tell me it was him, Martha. Please." He was cracking, emotions peeking through his stoic façade.

"He came back. Apologized. Told me he loved me." She kept her eyes trained on the table. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. "Mickey, I'm sorry." She was greeted by a bitter, almost maniacal laugh.

"Of course. Figures this would happen." Mickey stood brusquely, gathering the papers from the table slowly, controlled- as if he were trying to control himself as well.

"And why wouldn't he choose you? Brilliant, beautiful, caring, and completely devoted. You'd do anything for him. What better replacement for Rose than somebody that will answer his every beck and call? Keeping you hanging on him was probably the smartest decision he ever made. Doctor Jones: ass on-call. You're a slave, Martha." He shook his head disgustedly. "And he will _never_ look at you the way he looked at her."

And with that he turned on his heel and walked out of the door, slamming it so hard that he cracked the glass. He left Martha alone, struck mute by his rant. She wanted to go after him- to hit him and tell him he was wrong. She wanted to scream and fight and somehow prove to Mickey that the Doctor loved her and only her. To prove that she was nobody's replacement and definitely nobody's slave. But Mickey was gone.

Only his words and her own vicious memories were left behind.

* * *

**Roses are red, violets are blue. Like this fic? Please REVIEW!**

**xoxo, LPL**


	13. Chapter 13

**Back again guys! This one's a shorty, and a bit angsty. But don't give up on me yet! The angst you guys have been demanding is not too far off!**

**Enjoy!**

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**xiii**

* * *

Martha walked into her office and, for the second day in a row, was accosted by a sea of flowers. But today, yesterday's bright, white lilies were a dull and wilting. Sitting at her desk, she scribbled a sign- _Free Flowers- _and taped it to her door_. _They had to go.

"Dr. Jones, I need you to d- wow, you look horrible." Colonel Mace said, before he could stop himself and forgetting his manners. He'd only come in for their normal morning briefing, but he couldn't stop his observation from slipping through his lips.

"Good morning to you too, Colonel." Martha said, resting her face in her hands. It was true: She did look horrible. Her hair hung limply over her shoulders, her suit was wrinkled and disheveled, and her face was devoid of makeup- bags framing eyes that held none of their usual light. It'd been a bad night.

After Mickey's rant, he left- slamming the door and leaving a crack across the inset clouded glass of the front door. She'd called The Doctor nonstop. He'd only left this morning but she needed him. She _needed_ HIM, his arms, his words- undoing the damage her soon-to-be-ex-husband had done.

There was no answer. It continued to ring and ring and ring until there came a point where it just didn't. Had the circumstances not been what they were, she might had laughed at the voicemail greeting he'd recorded on her old phone. It was mostly the whirring of the sonic and grumblings about ancient technology. Then,

_Oh, hello there! This is the Doctor on Martha's old phone. If the Universe is in danger, sit tight: I'm probably already on it- hence the not answering… If you're looking for Martha Jones, she's not here, and shame on you for not having the n-_

Then the message cut off, effectively ending The Doctor's rant. At first, she'd left a few messages, but after a while, she just called to hear his voice. She cried herself to sleep that night, with no word from the man she loved.

Back at UNIT headquarters, she'd been briefed on the day's tasks, and performed them with her usual, mechanical precision. Slowly but surely, the flowers began to disappear from her office- who knew so many secret government operatives were fans of decorative flora? They were already dying, like The Doctor said they would. Calla Lilies were quickly becoming her least favorite flower.

She'd still heard no word from him, and continued to call throughout the day. She knew it had to be some emergency to keep him from her, especially given the cathartic breakthrough they'd had only days earlier. But her sinister insecurities, spurred by the 'Rosebud' Mickey had planted the night before, haunted her.

_What better replacement for Rose?_

_Keeping you hanging on him was probably the smartest decision he ever made…_

_You're a slave…ass an-call._

_He will NEVER look at you the way he looked at her._

_Rose… her name was Rose. And we were together…_

_Don't think that you're replacing her!_

_I loved her._

The words played over and over in her mind. Even as she made her way home at the end of the day, she still couldn't help but to be tormented by thoughts of him. She was the runner up- Rose wasn't an option, so she became the winner by default. She drowned her sorrows that night in a golden bottle of whiskey, her phone clutched to her chest.

And so it went. A day passed, then two, with still no word from The Doctor. She'd made the effort to look presentable after the first day. Martha pressed her clothes, straightened her hair, and even put on a bit of make-up.

"Alright. Just because you feel like shit doesn't mean you have to look the part," she told herself.

She stopped leaving messages, but still called. Her mind was consumed by the darkest thoughts, but she carried on- holding herself together by a hair during the day while crumbling apart at night. She cursed herself for letting her insecurities get the better of her, but she had no proof of the contrary. Not without him.

* * *

Days came and went, and soon it was Friday. She couldn't deny that she was worried. Just because he was a Time Lord didn't mean that he actually knew what he was doing in that big blue box of his. However, her brain had switched to self-destruct. Again she cursed herself- before that wonderful week spent with The Doctor, before Mickey came into her life at all, Martha Jones wouldn't have been so… weak. She couldn't be coming apart at the seams over some guy.

_But that's just it, isn't it? He's not just _some guy. _ He's the most amazing man I've ever met. How could I ever hope to be good enough? Rose was good enough. Bleached, blonde, beautiful Rose. _

She thought as she stumbled through the still-cracked front door, slipping off her shoes. Before him, Martha Jones would never have fallen apart. She made straight for the liquor cabinet. Tonight was a tequila kind of night.

Hours and an entire bottle of tequila later, Martha was leaned over the toilet- retching what felt like everything she'd ever eaten. She couldn't see straight and walking was completely out of the question. As another wave of nausea hit, she felt something brush the back of her neck. She'd long since divested herself of her work clothes and was only clad in an old tee shirt and knickers. If it was a thief in the night, they could have everything she owned- she was too out of it to notice anyway.

It was a thief, but not the kind she was thinking of.

He knelt down and fisted her hair, gently holding it in a haphazard ponytail away from her face as she gripped the seat and dry-heaved into the toilet. His free hand rubbed her back, and the scents of time, singed hair and smoky cotton clung to him- a byproduct of his latest adventure no doubt. The adventure that kept him away for so long. Her body was too spent to do anything but shudder and convulse and cry. She could barely form a coherent thought, let alone comprehend who was holding her and how. But with eyes shut tight, she buried herself in his chest and inhaled his scent and she knew.

The Doctor simply held her on the bathroom floor, as she cried endlessly- stroking her hair and holding her close. He shushed her, telling her that everything would be fine, though he didn't yet know what the issue was or even how long he'd been gone.

"I got your messages."

* * *

**I know it wasn't a lot, but if you have ANY thoughts at all, please review! I value all comments (unless it's some kind of flame, hater-type argument about how Martha/10 can't work- blah blah blah cannon, blah blah blah Rose... I don't value those.)**

**xoxo,LPL**


	14. Chapter 14

**Woah! It's been a while. And I supremely and sincerely apologize for my absence. School had been kicking my ass, and honestly I ****_should_**** be doing homework... but FUCK THAT! I needed to update this fic. It's been a long time coming.**

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**xiv**

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She awoke at 6:23 am, mentally cursing her internal clock. On a severely hung over Saturday morning, she still woke up around sunrise. However, she stayed tucked away in her covers with her eyes closed until almost noon. She could hear him walking about various rooms of her house but she dared not face him. Not quite yet.

Unfortunately, he didn't give her a choice. At 11:45, an unholy racket of pots as pans brought fully and unceremoniously back to the land of the living. Martha sat up a bit too quickly and braced herself on the edge of the bed while she caught her breath before stumbling to the bathroom. Though her mind no longer suffered from the effects of the alcohol she all but inhaled the previous night, her body was a bit slower to recover- coordinating her steps was proving a bit difficult. Once she made it to her personal bathroom, she filled the oversized sink with ice cold water and dunked her head in until she could no longer hold her breath. When she emerged, she could see that the bathroom was spotless. She was positive, even in her hung-over haze, that the room had been a mess the night before: she'd knocked over almost all of the various beauty products from the sink and she couldn't say for sure that she made it to the toilet in time when that nasty wave of nausea hit. She decided not to dwell on the inconsistencies in her memory. After all, to say she'd been intoxicated would be the understatement of the century.

Martha ran her tongue over her teeth and was reminded of the toothpaste commercial that compared dirty teeth to fuzzy slippers; her entire mouth tasted like she'd been feasting on Beanie Babies. After washing her face, cleaning her teeth, and taming her hair into submission with a brunch and hair tie, she made her way slowly down the stairs.

"Good morning, Sunshine!" The Doctor said, jogging over to her and laying a quick kiss on her lips with his usual energy. "Mm... Minty!" He kissed her again. He had changed from the singed brown suit to a crisp blue one and he no longer smelled of smoke. His million-watt smile hadn't changed a bit. Her life had fallen to pieces while he remained untouched by her current drama. When had her life become a soap opera?

All she could do was grant him an uncharacteristically shy smile and let him lead her to the immaculately set table. In fact, the whole house- or what she'd seen of it so far- was immaculate. Apparently he'd been busy while she was in LaLa land.

"I was going to make you breakfast, or lunch, or brunch or whatever silly thing you call mealtime at this hour... But your pots... They were stacked so dangerously. They attacked..." He trailed off as he stared toward the kitchen in dismay, as if it housed the Dalek horde.

She couldn't help but giggle and this seemed to bring him around again. "So I popped in on a friend and had her whip you up something. Homemade American southern breakfast straight from Tennessee."

On the table were bowls of fresh cut fruit, fried fish and grits, mountains of bacon, scrambled eggs, fried potatoes, and the biggest stack of flapjacks she has ever seen. Fresh squeezed orange juice and pure maple syrup sat in the middle of the table along with a single red rose in a skinny vase.

"Uhh... Doctor? How many people did you tell this friend of yours to cook for?"

"Only two, I swear! I stopped by for a quick visit while you were sleeping and she sent me back with all of this. Told me to make sure you feel better. You know, maybe I'll take you to go see her sometime. Mae, she's called. You'd like her."

She nodded and thanked him, trying to ignore the pinching jealousy that rose like bile in her throat over this 'friend'. The bulk of his friends _did_ seem to be female, didn't they? Oh, Mickey had awakened quite a dangerous beast.

He pulled out her chair and sat next to her at the rather large dining room table.  
"Are you going to tell me what that was about?" He asked, piling food on their plates.  
"What _what's_ about?"

"Last night. You know: head in the toilet, house a mess, hysterical crying… twice your weight in alcohol. And the messages, let's not forget. Any of that ring a bell?"

"Oh, that. Nothing... Really, nothing. Just a rough day. Wasn't feeling well." She brushed him off quickly. Not ready to confront the issue. She dug into the much needed greasy meal. Delicious though it was, she couldn't help loathing the woman who made it- wondering if he'd made the same promises to this Mae woman that he'd made to Martha just a week ago.

"And I suppose you're going to tell me next that you cried yourself to sleep last night because you were happy to see me?"

His question was met with silence, mostly because that was, in fact, what she was planning on telling him if he asked. After a tense moment of silence, he spoke again.

"Don't do that. I may be a lot of things, Miss Jones, but I'm _not_ stupid. And please don't _ever_ mistake me for someone who is." He spoke evenly, quiet and controlled and not once did he look at her. She'd seen the look on his face millions of times; he was working something out without knowing what he missed. Mulling something over without having all of the pieces. Trying to decide the next course of action.

"And besides," he added, finally sparing her a glance, covering her small hand with his larger one. "I know you, Martha. Maybe better than you think. I know your moods, your quirks, everything. Especially when something's bothering you. Please... let me help."

He searched her eyes pleadingly, silently asking what was so bad that she had to lie... What could have happened in a week?

"We're together now. Does it matter?" She said, leaning in to kiss his hand where it laid over hers.

"Doesn't it?"

Martha swallowed thickly, the food dropping like a stone in her stomach. Looking at him now, she could read him. His face was as open as the pages of a book; he was hurting. He was hurt and confused and afraid of what she had to say. And she couldn't deny him. She set the fork down softly on the plate and turned to face him.

* * *

She told him everything; the unsigned divorce papers, the flowers from Mickey, and ultimately the mind-fuck. The food had gone cold by the time she finished. He stared at his plate, his hands in his lap.

"Right. Right then." He said, finally unfolding his lanky frame from the chair.

"Where are you going?" She asked through her tears. She had bared the truths of the last week and he'd listened intently- absorbing and processing the information, trying to figure out how all the pieces fit.

He turned to her, as if looking at her for the first time. The Doctor pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. He took her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. What she saw there was turmoil.

"I'm going to go have a talk with our Mr. Smith."

In truth, he was boiling inside. There had been very few times where something as petty as the human emotions compelled him to his own thoughtlessness. However, he honestly didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. And he didn't know what he'd do when he saw Mickey, but he would surely make the man that hurt the woman he loved- the man who shook that woman's faith in him- pay.

* * *

**Oh man, what will happen between Mickey and The Doctor? Who is this Mae lady? Why didn't The Doctor just answer the phone? What will happen to our star-crossed lovers from here?**

**Hope you liked!**

**xoxo, LPL**


	15. Chapter 15

**Woah guys! Only one chapter left! It's been a really wild ride. To think that this was my very first fic** **and look at how it's grown! Look at how ****_I've _****grown! Thanks for staying with me this long.**

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**xv**

* * *

The Doctor turned to leave, his long legs carrying him swiftly to the door. Martha stumbled after him with her pleas falling on deaf ears. She tried to lead him to light; to reason: she didn't know what he would do to Mickey in his current, agitated state, but she knew for sure that he'd regret it.

Her train of thought was interrupted when she walked straight into the back of the Time Lord, who had reached the door, but stopped just short of opening it. He stood there, as still as stone, captivated by the cracked glass in the front door. With trembling fingers, he traced the crack- a physical manifestation of the angry exchange that had happened there and a symbol of the heartache and turmoil that he felt inside.

Martha took his momentary stillness to wedge herself between The Doctor and the door. She squeezed into the small space, so he had no choice but to look at her. She looked at him defiantly, every bit of the tiny powerhouse he'd met all those years ago.

"You're here now. We're together. Isn't that enough?"

He seemed to snap out of whatever stupor he'd been in. He wasn't sure how she'd gotten there, or even when he'd gotten to the door. In his blinding rage, he'd switched to autopilot but she stood before him now begging for calm. Coaxing him back to the here and now.

"Yes. This is enough."

He took her face in his hands. Martha stood on her tiptoes in her fuzzy slippers to close the distance between them and their lips locked in a desperate plea for sanity. He crushed her to him, selfishly stealing her air. Their tongues dueled for as long as she could stand before she broke the kiss. The Doctor rested his head against hers, finessing the last vestiges of his anger back in check.

"Come on. Let's go _home_."

A slow smile spread over her face and brightened her features. As he led her out of the door and into the TARDIS with a new sense of purpose, she finally felt like everything was going to be OK.

He pulled her through the sentient ship and back to the room she'd dreamed about for the last week. She noticed that the room was cleaner; her black dress, which had been no more than a crumpled stain on the plush burgundy carpet, now hung neatly on the back of the door and the bed was flawlessly made. The candles had been lit.

"She approves. She wants you to stay." He whispered before burying his face in her neck. Her heart filled with gratitude for the machine and she felt a warmth flow over her- the TARDIS saying, "You are very welcome." Here, Martha was wanted, needed, respected, and loved- what more could she ask for?

The Doctor led her to the bed and laid her down, leaving a trail of sweet kisses down her neck and chest. He gently pushed her robe open to reveal the skin underneath. "God, I missed you," he whispered into her inner thigh before dragging his tongue up one leg, then the other. Martha donned her most seductive smile and simply said, "Prove it".

He accepted that challenge.

* * *

He laid behind her with one arm wrapped tightly around her. She'd fallen asleep straight away after he _proved just how much he'd missed her._ And he proved it over and over and over again.

He listened to her steady breathing as they laid skin to skin.

_Yes. This is enough._ He'd said.

He hated lying to her, but the look on her face was worse- as if she was just moments away from breaking. As if she was using the last of her strength to stand up to him. In truth, she _was_ enough for him. Sometimes, she made him question whether _he_ was enough to keep _her_. But she was his, and so was her pain; he couldn't move forward without a resolution to their current situation. So, he quietly crept out of bed, careful not to wake her, then he got to work.

He went back to his own quarters, showered, and dressed himself in another blue suit. Then, he made his way to the main control room. Ducking under the console, he began connecting wires, creating room for what was to come. When he came back up, he pulled the viewing screen over to get a better look at his handiwork- Perfect. The Doctor then tapped a few keys on the keyboard but the TARDIS thought ahead. She had already located their target.

* * *

The rainforests of Brazil were already treacherous enough without an 8-foot tall potentially dangerous alien who'd been roaming around, snacking on the local livestock camouflaging itself in the canopy. However, a bounty was a bounty and Torchwood paid rather well. "Por aqui, Smith! A fera está nas árvores!" _Over here, Smith! The beast is in the trees!_

His small team of guides and local hunters were mediocre at best and his rudimentary knowledge of local language and custom didn't make the situation better, but everyone was doing their best. He just didn't have the heart to tell them that their best wasn't good enough. He ran toward the shouts of his team. "Quickly, Smith! It's getting away!" It took him a moment to realize that he could fully understand his team now. Either they could all speak fluent English in perfect British accents the entire time, or something bigger was happening- and he had an idea of what that _something_ was.

When he heard the telltale sound of the TARDIS, he threw down his weapon in anger. "What the hell! I had everything under control!"

Of course he was here to neutralize the alien threat. Why wouldn't he be?

However, his brooding was interrupted when his surroundings began to change. The TARDIS was materializing around him. However, when the process was complete, he had no clue where he was. There was no sign of the gold and brown organic fixtures that he'd grown used to in his time with The Doctor. He was in a white room with a white table and a silver chair pulled out and waiting for him. Across from that chair was a blue-suited Doctor seated in an identical, if not slightly taller, chair with his arms folded across his chest. A notepad and pen sat in the middle of the table.

"Hello, Mickey."

Mickey stood stunned: if someone would have told him he'd end up in the TARDIS as opposed to in the clutches of some carnivorous off-worlder, he'd have stayed in bed. The Doctor sat there, arms folded and legs crossed, with a remarkably bored look on his face. Mickey took the cold metal chair across from his adversary and donned a similar expression.

"Doctor. To what do I owe the pleasure? Mind if we make this quick? I was kind of in the middle of something."

"My thoughts exactly, old friend. Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" He said coolly. "I know everything. I know what happened between you and Martha."

Though he was surprised, Mickey kept his cool. "And?"

"And… I need you gone. Out of her life. Out of _our_ lives… for good. No flowers, no phone calls, no notes. Nothing. You've caused too much damage here."

Mickey scoffed in pure, unchecked indignation. "_I've _caused too much damage? Good one, mate. Tell it again. You're the reason we're in this mess in the first place! You're the reason she's broken. Not me. Yeah, she hurt me but, honestly, I don't even blame her. I blame you. First Rose-"

"This has nothing to do with Rose."

"Oh, this has _everything_ to do with Rose. As soon as she met you, she was putty in your hands. I have no idea how you managed to do it to Martha, but you've done it."

At this, the Doctor laughed. "You know as well as I do that Martha Jones is no one's putty."

"Whatever you say. Point is: you had your finger in my peanut butter for far longer than this thing with Martha has been going on. You injected yourself into my relationship long before I even came back 'round. You were the third party in our marriage from the beginning." Mickey was angry. By this time he had raised from his seat and was banging his fist on the table. How dare The Doctor imply that _he_ was the interloper in his own marriage?

"_My_ point, Mickey," The Doctor said, raising from the table as well and leaning upon it with flat palms. His face was close to Mickey's and his tone dripped with venom and condescension. "She was mine before she was _ever_ yours. Now I'm back and I need you gone. You're a loose end. Do you know what that means? It means that one way or another, you need to be dealt with. There are so many things that I want to do to you right now. So many things that I could do, and no one would know the difference. You'd be considered another casualty of your profession and no one would be the wiser. But instead, I come to you with a choice. I was granted mercy by that beautiful, brilliant woman and she gave me a second chance to make things right. I'm extending that mercy to you. "

Never breaking eye contact, he shoved the notepad and pen in Mickey's direction.

"Option 1. Write. Write a letter. Apologize for what you said- for causing her pain. Wish her well and sign it with love. Finish your work here, take the first thing smoking back home and finalize your divorce, and never, _ever_ contact her again.

Option 2. Disregard this meeting. Disregard my mercy. Deal with the consequences. Oh, and there _will_ be consequences, Mr. Smith. Disregard my warnings and I will reconstruct your life into my exquisitely torturous interpretation of Hell in a way that you know only I can. I will make your life miserable and make sure you experience every moment of it. Martha is all I have and by Rassilon's grace she's given me a second chance. I will not have it taken away from me."

The look in the Doctor's eye was one he'd seen before. He'd seen it not just in the Doctor against some Earth shattering evil, but in Rose in the parallel world and in Martha during their marriage. It was the look of someone who meant what they said. Someone who knew something that you didn't know and never wanted to find out about. He swallowed thickly; The Doctor's choice wasn't a choice at all. It was an ultimatum.

"I gave that woman everything. I loved her with everything. Treated her better than you ever did. Better than you ever could." He said quietly.

The Doctor's tone softened as well. "No one's denying that. But your time has passed. Write the letter. Do the right thing… the smart thing."

Mickey sat back down in the cool metal chair and began to write.

* * *

**Almost done! Let me know what you guys think! Review! **

**xoxo,LPL**


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